


Shake The Dust Off Your Dreams

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Books, Bookstores, Christmas, F/M, Festivities, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by a Movie, Romance, Single Mom Clarke, Slow Burn, inspired by a book, military bellamy, slight PTSD, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6364495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple of weeks before Christmas, Bellamy Blake lands in the small town of Arkadia to meet his pen pal Wells Jaha for the first time.</p><p>What he finds, though, are the people Wells left behind.</p><p>--Inspired by the book <em>The Readers of Broken Wheel Recommend</em> and the movie <em>Christmas on the Bayou.</em>  Not that you need to know those plots to follow this at all — just know that the basis for this fic are a fiction novel and Lifetime movie, so do with that what you will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, trying something new here. I had originally intended for this to be a long oneshot, but it took on a life of its own, so I ended up organizing it by days to span the length of one week. A few days split chapters as necessary. Since this story’s become my weird little happy place this season, I decided to post sooner rather than later :) Hope you enjoy! Title from American Nights by Plain White T’s.
> 
> Also, huge huge thank you to [enoughtotemptme](http://archiveofourown.org/users/enoughtotemptme/pseuds/enoughtotemptme) and [avidfangirllife](http://archiveofourown.org/users/avidfangirllife/pseuds/avidfangirllife) for their speed-reading and feedback on Ch 1 and generally being sweethearts while I flail <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrivals and surprises.

Bellamy tugs his coat closer around him against the gust of wind, glancing up from his copy of _American Gods_ to check the clock high on the wall for the third time.

3:26p.m. His ride is now officially one hour late.

Frowning, he pulls out his phone. No messages or missed calls.

He looks around again. Aside from the occasional empty car parked in the lot, no others have pulled up to the Mount Weather Train Station in the past twenty minutes. Besides him, there's just two others. A couple, who've been lingering in the entrance since his train arrived. Now the woman paces back and forth with her cellphone at her ear, scolding whoever’s on the other end.

“I can’t believe you missed it, Otan, what were you thinking?” She listens a moment, then scoffs, “Overslept. Sure. Well enjoy Christmas on your own. You won’t get a flight out here anytime soon with that storm coming, and that's _if_ you can time it with this crazy train schedule." A pause. "Yeah, I know you don’t have money to buy more plane tickets anyways.”

Her companion shakes his head. Then he catches Bellamy watching them and his eyes narrow. Bellamy offers a quick, polite nod and turns back around.

A storm? Shit, he really hopes Wells is coming.

As he always does when he gets stressed, his fingers trace the comforting outline of dog tags that lay flat on his chest, right next to his heart. Despite all the layers he wears against the cold, the motion soothes his mind. His eyes drift shut, not opening even as the woman ends her call with a soft curse, boots clicking as she walks past him. Her friend goes after her with decidedly more measured steps, and Bellamy’s alone again.

He’s taking slow, calculated breaths when a new pair of footsteps rings out on the platform. The click of heels is brisk on pavement; whoever it is, they’re not as unfamiliar with this place as he is.

“You must be new in town.”

The man’s voice is jarring. Bellamy opens his eyes to find a thin man looming over him. His face is all angles, and even his smile seems too sharp at the corners to be real under that hooked nose. The grey coat falls from his shoulders to his feet. He looks like a tall, unwelcome lamppost.

Bellamy goes back to his book, but either the man can’t read signals or doesn’t care—neither of which make him any more appealing. He sits down next to him on the bench, the polish on his black shoes shining in the sunlight as he crosses his legs.

“Gaiman, huh? Can’t say I see many people lugging a book like that around. What do you think so far?”

Thinking maybe a response will usher the man out, Bellamy grunts, “Already read it twice.”

“Really?” He seems all too pleased by that. “Well you _definitely_ aren’t from around here, then. Where are you headed?”

“Arkadia.”

Finally, a scowl. The stranger’s face seems much more at home with that expression. “Arkadia? Why would you want to go there?”

Bellamy’s temper gets the better of him. “Did I miss the part where we became friends?” He snaps, setting down the book.

He’s greeted with another oily smile. “Arkadia is a broken town. There’s nothing left but sad people and sad lives.”

“Funny how sad people can still kick your ass in soccer every Tuesday.”

The drawling voice behind them makes Bellamy smirk even as they both turn. It’s the couple who he’d assumed had left. But they must have circled back, considerably quieter than before—maybe he wasn’t as inconspicuous as he’d hoped earlier. Or just too distracted. Whatever the case, he’s weirdly grateful to see them.

The woman was the one who’d spoken, and now she tosses long brunette locks over her shoulder and bares her teeth in an unfriendly grin. Her companion doesn’t move at all, but his slitted gaze pretty much dares a response.

The man beside Bellamy stands, increasingly uncomfortable. “Just the kind of crass language I’d expect from an Arkadian,” he sniffs.

“Happy to oblige, Cage,” the woman replies, still grinning. Her gaze flicks over to Bellamy. “You with him?”

“Nope.”

“Great.” Her eyes cut back to the man. “So you were just leaving, right?”

Cage glares, but is clearly out of options. Then the woman’s friend shifts and cracks his knuckles, deceptively casual and yet deliberate. He still looks like he would love to go to sleep on the spot, but Bellamy recognizes the facade for what it is. Cage does too. With another irritated sniff, he stalks away.

As soon as he’s out of sight, the girl laughs and tugs her friend’s elbow. “That was fun, John. Let’s do that again.”

He doesn’t grin, not quite, but open affection changes his face dramatically for a moment. Then he looks at Bellamy.

“You really going to Arkadia?”

A little puzzled, Bellamy nods. “My ride is late.”

“Who’s your ride?” The girl asks. At his hesitation, she steps forward. “My name is Emori. This is John. We’re from Arkadia. It’s a pretty small world there. We probably know whoever was supposed to pick you up.”

Bellamy glances between them, then at the clock again, and sighs. “Wells Jaha.”

They both do a double take. Eyes wide, Emori looks at John, who seems both suspicious and curious at once.

“What’d you say your name was?”

“Bellamy Blake,” he replies slowly. It doesn’t seem to clear their confusion. So he stands and slings his bag across his shoulder before untucking a folded square of paper from his pocket. Opening the letter, he holds it out to Emori. “Go ahead. It’s fine.”

Hesitantly, she takes it from his hand and scans it quickly, seeing the evidence of his and Wells' last conversation. It's two months old, but after all the times Wells had said _get on a plane,_ he figured a surprise might be in order when his last letter went unanswered.

Emori's features open in understanding, followed by a deep sympathy that makes him wonder what he’s just walked into.

John reads it over her shoulder. They exchange a look, and then he says, “We can take you to Arkadia.”

Bellamy pauses. “But Wells—”

“Wells isn’t coming,” Emori says, not unkindly. “I promise we’ll explain, but—it’s better if you come with us.”

Looking around, he reaches for his dog tags again. There’s no one else at the train station, and even if there was, he’s not sure he wants to know them if they’re anything like Cage. Besides, what’s he going to do, turn around? The next train isn’t for three days, and the flights are bound to be delayed if there's a storm headed their way.

This is what he gets for leaving the Philippines to travel to an obscure little town in the American midwest.

 _Nut up or shut up, big brother,_ Octavia chimes in his head.

With a resigned sigh, he turns back to his new companions. “Let’s go, then.” 

* * *

 It’s a quiet half hour.

Bellamy hasn’t quite learned much beyond the fact that John goes by his last name to everyone except Emori, and that the midwest kind of looks the same in all directions. He watches the the scenery pass by, mile after mile stretched with nothing but bare trees and grassy fields, dotted by the occasional house. The sun has disappeared behind the clouds, taking the rest of his optimism with it.

“There’s not a lot out here.” Emori’s watching him in the rearview mirror. “You probably figured that with the train schedule.”

He nods. “I’m guessing you grew up here?”

“John did.” Emori pats his arm with familiarity. “I’m technically an outsider. But I’ve been here so long it feels like home.”

“It _is_ your home,” Murphy murmurs, and she smiles and winds her fingers with his.

Their quiet intimacy makes Bellamy feel like an intruder, so he just looks out the window again.

Eventually the fields give way to a gas station or two, and soon the speed limit is slowing to a near-crawl as they take the exit into town. The houses are all obviously old, the paint faded and peeling off the railings, sloping rooves that bend so sharply Bellamy wonders how they haven’t collapsed altogether. But they’re still standing, and that’s something. The main street is lined with a mix of little stores, their colorful awnings and hand-painted signs more welcoming than any of Mount Weather’s sterile white exteriors. Despite the cold, people stand and chat at street corners and outside shops with an easy familiarity. Bellamy has the feeling that if he walked by the next day, they’d all be in the same spots, still smiling.

They take a left off the main road onto Mecha Avenue, but before he can tell them to take the next right onto Alpha Lane, they speed past.

“Hey, hang on, Wells’ address is—”

“We’re not going to Wells’ house.”

The hairs on his neck rise as he leans forward. “What the hell?”

Emori twists around, glaring right back. “I told you we’d explain when we got here. So that’s what we’re doing. Taking you to someone who will explain.”

The car stops abruptly. “We’re here,” Murphy says, unnecessarily.

Bellamy looks outside. The little white house is almost picturesque with its bright blue shutters and cozy front porch. Toys litter the yard, enclosed by a rickety fence.

Suddenly the owner of those toys comes shooting around from the back, limbs flailing with glee. His brown hat is adorned with a pair of reindeer antlers atop sleepy-looking eyes; his coat is brown, too. He’s soon followed by a woman, blonde hair unraveling from her braid and a streak of paint on her cheek. Under her puffy jacket, a long blue dress swishes by her feet. Laughing, she catches up and scoops him into an embrace, tickling his sides.

A pang hits Bellamy’s heart as he thinks of his own nephew Kai running around just like that. It’s only been two days and he misses him already.

More than that, though, something nags at the back of his mind. Like he’s missing an important detail.

“Who’s the princess?” He asks.

“Come and see.” Emori heads over with a loud greeting, pulling the woman into a hug before crouching to high five the little boy. Murphy gets out next, strolling into the yard. After a long pause, Bellamy unfolds himself from the car, but remains outside the fence, unsure.

The blonde’s face creases with concern when she sees him, a protective hand curling around the boy’s shoulders in a way that makes him sure she’s his mother. Emori leans in, speaking quickly but quietly, and this time when he meets blue eyes, they’re soft with recognition. Leaving the boy with Emori, she comes over, looking as nervous as he feels.

“You’re Bellamy.” For some reason, it sounds like she knows him. She sticks out a hand. “Hi. I’m Clarke.”

Clarke. _Of course._ Everything clicks into place.

“Clarke.” Bellamy doesn’t know why he’s whispering. “You’re Wells’ best friend.”

Her face crumbles for a split second. “I was,” she whispers back.

There’s a strange rushing in his ears as he struggles to breathe. Now he knows why her expression is so familiar—he's seen loss too many times not to recognize it when it’s staring him in the face.

Pieces of the puzzle click into place, but it only makes him wish they hadn’t, wish he could go back to ten seconds ago when Wells was supposed to walk out of the house and explain why he hadn’t picked him up. Emori’s earlier words flash through his mind.

_Wells isn’t coming._

Tears threaten with a sudden force, stinging his eyes and blurring his vision, but he blinks them away rapidly, refusing to let them fall. If they fall, this becomes real, and he’s not sure he can handle that at the moment.

Gradually he becomes aware that Clarke’s still holding his hand—or rather, the other way around. He’s probably crushing her fingers with his grip, but he can’t seem to let go. Then Clarke puts her other hand overtop his, sandwiching his large palm in between and squeezing back with equal force. The bite of her nails makes him exhale and meet her gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “He never told you he was sick, did he?”

Speechless, Bellamy just shakes his head.

“Typical Wells.” The scolding comes out more like an endearment, another small slice on his heart. Clarke steps closer. “Listen, I know this must be a lot to take. Will you please come inside?”

His vocal chords are still shot. He nods and tries to release her hand, but she doesn’t pull back right away, not until her son calls out and comes crashing into her legs. Bellamy watches Clarke take a deep breath and push her emotions aside, switching to mom mode. He’s seen it enough on his own mother; hell, even on his sister already.

With a doting look, Clarke ruffles the boy’s blonde curls. “Hey, buddy. We have a visitor. Do you remember your manners?”

Another pair of startlingly clear blue eyes looks up at him. “Hello. I’m Zachary. It’s nice to meet you.”

His practiced politeness pulls a shaky smile from Bellamy, and he reaches down deep to find his voice. “Likewise, Zachary. My name’s Bellamy.”

“Cool. Do you like _Frozen?”_

“I do.”

The boy folds his arms. “Who’s your favorite character?”

“Sven,” he answers instantly.

“Okay,” Zach nods in approval. “You can be my friend.”

Clarke smiles at him, then taps Zachary’s shoulder. “Zach, why don’t you take Aunt Emori inside and show her your new coloring book?” She watches him run up the porch, tugging along Murphy and Emori.

“He’s eloquent,” Bellamy comments.

“I swear he came out talking,” Clarke replies fondly. “He’s my best guy.”

“I can see why.”

Clarke smiles back, but it fades quickly. “Bellamy, I’m so sorry about this. I don’t—I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.” She reaches out to take his hand again, like she’s worried he might run. Which, honestly, has crossed his mind. Running, sprinting, hotwiring Murphy’s car—

But then Clarke says, “Please come inside?” and he knows he’s not going anywhere.

* * *

 Clarke’s house feels like home.

It’s surreal—yet it’s the best description Bellamy can think of for a place that seems to be so _full,_ so lived in and cherished.

From the minute he walks in the door, he’s swarmed by the smell of coffee and cinnamon, the latter of which makes sense when he sees the muffins cooling on the kitchen counter. A basket of toys sits next to the TV, the occasional stuffed animal perched on the couch with such carefulness that it has to be her doing. By the door is a handpainted wooden sign spelling out _HOME_ in cursive, attached to a bottom row of hooks that bear countless scarves and hoodies. The throw blanket messily folded on the recliner makes him smile; no doubt for power naps, just like his mom used to take, just like O takes now. The walls are covered in artwork, including several crayon drawings that are definitely Zach’s.

He thinks of the paint on Clarke’s cheek and Wells’ constant _Picasso_ anecdotes, and finds himself trying to pinpoint which paintings belong to her.

As if called by the thought, Clarke comes into the living room carrying two mugs of coffee. She’s since changed into jeans and a navy sweatshirt emblazoned with _Arkadia Timberwolves_ on the front. He accepts the checkered mug with a quiet thanks and looks at her expectantly.

She sighs. “You’ll want to sit for this.”

The lump in his throat becomes harder to ignore. Cradling the mug tightly, Bellamy settles on the couch. Clarke sits right beside him, chewing on her bottom lip and staring at her coffee until he thinks her brow might become permanently pinched.

Without thinking, he says as much, and is delighted when it coaxes a rueful laugh out of her.

“Wells used to say that too.” She looks up at him. “This is so strange. I feel like I know you.”

Bellamy nods. “Yeah. Me too.” She’d been a prominent staple of Wells’ letters.

 _Clarke’s decided her latest project is to fix the leak in the roof, I swear if she falls and cracks her head I’m never forgiving her_ ; _Update, she didn’t fall, but there’s three of us to thank for that, nearly yanked my shoulder out of its socket; You’ll never guess what Clarke wrote in her essay on Moreau when we were in high school…_

It had gotten to the point that Bellamy had a pretty solid picture in his mind of Wells’ best friend. Now it’s like she’s stepped out of his imagination in vivid color. He wonders if it’s the same for her.

They’re both silent again for a few minutes, just holding their coffee without really drinking it.

“I’m not sure where to start,” Clarke admits eventually.

Neither is he, but he suggests, “How about the facts. Um… when did it happen?”

“Two weeks ago. His funeral was last Thursday.”

“Wow.” Bellamy draws a hand over his face, trying to process that. _Just two weeks sooner and maybe…_ “How long was he sick?”

“Months. Not even a full year. It was a rare strain.” Clarke says the last two words almost viciously, like she’s heard them too many times. Her nail idly scrapes a chip on the lip of her mug. “It was slow, in the beginning. And then it wasn’t,” she finishes sadly.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and he is.

Sighing, she puts the mug down on the table and turns to face him, folding a leg under her. “I—I haven’t been able to go inside his house very much. The first time, it was just to get something Zach had left there. I only saw the box of letters this weekend. Not that I didn’t know about you. Of course I know you,” she adds with a slight smile.

He grasps her hand. It’s a natural motion, one that doesn’t even cross his mind before he’s doing it, but he’s relieved when she doesn’t let go.

“He talks about you all the time. _Talked,”_ Bellamy corrects himself. That’s going to take getting used to. He hates it already.

Clarke seems to know what he’s thinking. “I didn’t know you were coming. Had you guys planned it beforehand?”

“Sort of. He wanted me to come down for Christmas, to meet you and everyone else… We never really had a fixed date. He kept saying, _Just get on a plane already,”_ Bellamy smiles as Clarke laughs, nodding. “I, uh, I had some time after I got discharged, so I just decided to do it. I just never thought—” His smile disappears as quickly as it comes, and his hands begin to shake. Setting down the mug, he covers his face. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I just… god, I should’ve gotten on a plane sooner, I can’t believe I didn’t—”

“No, sshh,” Clarke’s hand curls around the back of his neck, rubbing soothing circles. The other rests on his knee. “Bellamy, don’t do that to yourself. There’s no way you could have known. Wells was an idiot not to tell you.”

He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, nodding. How can he be this upset about someone he’s never met? Or maybe that’s just it—it never occurred to him that they’d never meet. But he promised Thelonious, he _owed_ it to him, and now—

“You don’t owe anyone anything, Bellamy,” Clarke murmurs.

He hadn’t realized he was talking aloud. Swallowing a sob, he pulls away and stands up. “Sorry, I just need some air,” he manages, and makes it out the front door before puking right there on her front lawn.

* * *

“I’m sorry. Again.”

The words are muffled, since Clarke is forcing him to sit with his head between his knees for a full ten minutes.

“Stop apologizing. _Again.”_ Her hand never stops stroking along his spine.

Bellamy breathes in the cold winter air. “I think it’s been ten—”

“It’s been three.” She sounds amused, if stern as hell. “Don’t even think of moving.”

“Wells was right, you _are_ bossy, princess.”

Clarke’s laugh rings into the air. He smiles weakly at the ground. Things are no longer spinning, which is a good sign. He inhales and exhales slowly, focusing on the breathing pattern like Thelonious taught him, until his insides feel calm again.

"Why didn't he tell me?" He hates that it comes out sounding like a whine. But he needs to know.

"Best guess?" She sighs. "Everyone in this town—hell, probably even the next town— knew he was sick. He hated it. He didn't want it to define him, you know? And then you came along, unassuming and just wanting to talk, and it was probably like a breath of fresh air to him."

Bellamy doesn't reply. Unfortunately, that does make sense, as much as he hates it. He can't imagine being in that specific situation, but he's too familiar with the feeling of being watched everywhere you go, being labeled for one thing despite trying hard to be more than that. So—he gets it. Doesn't mean it still doesn't suck.

Gradually Clarke squeezes his shoulder. “Try sitting up. _Carefully.”_

“So bossy,” he repeats, but does as she says, resting back against the porch bench with his eyes shut.

“I’ll be right back,” she says. A minute later, she returns and wraps his hand around another warm mug. “Zach made hot chocolate. Well. He added the marshmallows. Can't exactly reach the microwave yet.”

Bellamy opens his eyes and smiles. “That was nice of him.”

“It’s what he does whenever someone’s not feeling well. Always trying to take care of everyone.”

“Like mother like son,” he says, nudging her knee. Clarke smiles, almost shy.

“Drink your hot chocolate. You need the sugar.”

“Yes dear.” It flies out of his mouth before he can even think; it’s happening too much around her. Clarke looks a bit surprised, but then her mouth curls at the corners and she blushes sweetly, and Bellamy gets a new kind of tingling in his stomach.

Butterflies. Unbelievable.

The universe is really fucking cruel some days.

_Good thing I'm leaving soon._

* * *

 “You’re not going anywhere.”

Clarke stands before him with her arms crossed. Beside her, Zach strikes a similar pose. Murphy and Emori lean against the counter, thoroughly amused. He gets the feeling they’ve been part of a Clarke-lead intervention before.

“There’s a storm coming, all flights are delayed if not canceled already, and there’s no train out of Mount Weather for at least three days. I checked.” Clarke ticks off each reason on a finger, determined. “Besides you’ve barely even seen the town, and you came all this way.”

Bellamy rakes a hand through his hair. “What’s the point? I even missed the funeral. There’s nothing for me here.”

“That’s not true,” Clarke protests. “How do you even know? You’ve been here all of an hour. And it’s been a pretty awful hour. Let us make it up to you.” Biting her lip, she adds, “Wells would want you to stay.”

His shoulders sag. “Cheap shot, princess.”

“Did it work?”

He chuckles and drops his bag. “Yeah. It did.”

Clarke lets out a cheer, which causes Zach to do the same, and they high-five each other victoriously. “Alright,” Clarke announces. “I think it’s time we took you to the bookstore.”

“Bookstore!” Zach echoes delightedly.

She grins. “The owner is a great guy. He helps out me and my mom a lot, and he has a spare room upstairs. I’m sure he won’t mind you staying there.”

And so Bellamy finds himself strolling down the main street with Clarke and her son, watching from the corner of her eye as she greets nearly everyone she sees.

The baker, Monty, who apparently keeps aside an extra chocolate croissant out of habit. A few waitresses wave from the steps of the town diner while on their break, the redhead coming over to high five Zach and chat about a video game. One block later a gangly young man steps out of the rec center with his arms out wide for a hug. He’s Jasper, Clarke explains later. They went to school together; now he works there, alongside her. At the post office, an older woman waves through the window, green eyes barely visible overtop the large box in her hands, and by the hospital an Indian man in scrubs hurries by shouting his hello to Clarke while she yells back to make sure her mother has a proper meal.

When Clarke catches Bellamy watching it all, she shrugs, a bit sheepish. “I’m an art teacher at the middle school,” she explains. “And I do lessons some weeknights for adults. Mom works at the hospital… it’s kind of a small town.”

“I know,” he says with a grin, and she laughs.

“Right. Of course.”

He spots the bookstore well before they approach. The sign, _Arkane Treasures, _hangs bright and sturdy from a post above the store. Against a periwinkle background is the silhouette of a boy hunched over a book, with a pile of books still waiting right beside him. A steaming mug sits next to the stack.__

__Playing a hunch, Bellamy taps Clarke’s elbow, then points to the sign and gives her a thumbs up. She beams. He narrowly avoids tripping over his own feet._ _

__The door chimes once as they enter. The older man perched at the counter has flashes of grey in his beard. Removing wire-rimmed frames and setting down his paper, he smiles warmly._ _

__“Clarke! Zachary!” He comes over to greet them both with a hug. “How are you both today?”_ _

__“We’re good.” Clarke returns his hug with a smile. “Marcus, I want to introd—Zach, stay where I can see you!” She watches her son run off, then tugs Bellamy closer. “I want to introduce you to someone. Bellamy, this is Marcus Kane.”_ _

__The breath leaves his lungs for the second time today._ _

__“Marcus, this is—”_ _

__“Bellamy Blake,” he breathes. Their hands clasp. “Good to finally meet you, young man.”_ _

__“Wait, you know each other?” Clarke looks between them with her hands on her hips._ _

__“N-not exactly.” Bellamy tries to pull it together for the second time that day. “He knew Command Sergeant Jaha.”_ _

__“And Thelonious never stopped talking about _him.”_ Kane pats his shoulder. “I take it you’re finally out, then. What brings you to our little town?”_ _

__He swallows. “I—well, uh. It’s a long story, but I sort of became pen pals with Wells, after his dad was gone. We talked until I got out. I came to visit for the holiday, except—” His throat closes, and he can’t continue._ _

__“Except,” Clarke takes his hand, “Wells never told him about the cancer.”_ _

__Understanding dawns on Kane. “Shit. I expect you’ve had a rough day then, son.”_ _

__“He has,” Clarke interjects. “Which is why we’re here. I was hoping your room upstairs is still open? That nasty storm is headed our way, so he won’t be able to leave for some time.”_ _

__“Of course. You can stay as long as you need.”_ _

__“You’re sure it’s not any inconvenience?” Bellamy asks._ _

__“Not at all,” Kane grins. “Just me and my dusty old books.”_ _

__“Speaking of, where did my son get to?” Clarke wanders into the aisles, calling his name._ _

__That’s when Bellamy gets his first proper look at the bookstore. Two long stacks run from one corner to the other along the wall in an L shape. Four more stacks sit in the middle, perpendicular to the wall. The wood is chestnut, freshly polished and clearly well-kept. Each is shelf neatly lined with books and labeled down to the genre and author. Now and then a book will be placed horizontally atop the others, like someone took it out and forgot to return it to its home—or perhaps they’re not done with it._ _

__The books themselves are in varying shape. Some covers are old and faded; other spines smell as fresh as the day they were printed; still more have dog-eared pages, notes in the margins, anecdotes on the first page. More stories that live within the pages._ _

__The end tables next to each row hold at least one book apiece; some have a towering stack. More shelving, he supposes. Not surprising; it looks like a lot to maintain for one person. The wallpaper peeking out from behind the bookshelves is a faded blue, with white designs in a repeating pattern. When Bellamy gets closer, he recognizes the fleur-de-lis symbol._ _

__Curiously, there’s one section near the back that remains empty. Like it’s waiting to be filled by something specific. He doesn’t know what, but he gets the impression that it’s important to Kane, so he just files that away to inquire about later on._ _

__He doesn’t realize he’s been longingly brushing a hand along the old spines until Kane’s chuckle sounds behind him._ _

__“Now I see how you and Wells got along so well,” Kane smiles. “That boy was always surrounded by books.”_ _

__“His house is still full of them,” Clarke calls from one of the stacks._ _

__“I’m not much better,” Bellamy admits sheepishly. “My suitcase was half full of books.”_ _

__Clarke pops out with Zach in tow. “You didn’t have a suitcase,” she says, brow furrowed._ _

__He offers a grim smile. “One guess.”_ _

__“No!” She puts a hand to her heart, looking offended. “They didn’t lose it?”_ _

__“Officially? No. Unofficially. Yeah.”_ _

__“Well that’s just not right,” Kane declares. “What airline was it? Here, write down the details for me. I know a guy who works there, let me see if I can get anything out of him.” He pushes over a blue post-it from the counter and hands him a pen._ _

__“Didn’t mom operate on a flight attendant once?” Clarke asks. “I’ll get the name from her.” She grins at him. “We’re going to find that suitcase, Bellamy.”_ _

__Bellamy simply stares, wondering where these people came from._ _

* * *

“Wait a second,” Octavia’s voice floats through the speaker. _”He’s dead?”_

__“Yeah.” Bellamy draws a hand over his face, exhausted from the day. He’s lying on the pullout mattress in the room above the bookstore, huddled under the comforter and the extra fleece blanket Kane left to ward off the cold. The radiator in the corner has seen better days._ _

__Octavia swears. “Jesus Christ. I’m sorry, Bell.”_ _

“It’s fine.” It’s not. “Just let _lola_ and mom know I got here safe, okay?”

__“I will,” she promises. “Can you change your return flight to something earlier?”_ _

__“Not sure. Clarke says the storm might mess things up for a few days. And even then I’d have to make it to the next town to catch the train, and then the flight. It’s a lot of maneuvering. Clarke said she’d help me figure out the schedules later in the week.”_ _

__“You know your voice gets all funny when you say her name, right?” Octavia asks dryly._ _

__“No it doesn’t.”_ _

__“Oh yes it does, big brother.” She cackles. “Look at you, smitten after a _day.”__ _

__“Come on, O.”_ _

__“No, you come on, Bell.” If she were here, she’d have poked him. “It’s okay, you know. You’re only human.”_ _

__“I—I didn’t come here for that," he protests._ _

__“No, you came to see a friend who failed to mention he was dying. And that sucks, majorly. But now you’re there, and pretty much trapped for at least a few days. Why not look at the silver lining here?”_ _

__When he’s silent, she continues, “It might not be the worst for Clarke, either. Having you around. You can deal with it together, you know?”_ _

__He closes his eyes, a hand going to his dog tags. “Yeah. Maybe.”_ _

__“Just think about it.”_ _

__“I will.” Bellamy sighs and rolls to his side. “Now tell me about your day. How’s Kai?”_ _

Octavia gladly chatters on about her son for a while, his latest adventures on the island with his dad and _lola_ , and the latest fresh fruits she got from the market while they were out. She pauses only when Bellamy murmurs drowsy apologies and promises to call her back the next day. 

__After which he promptly falls fast asleep, his last thoughts of blue eyes and hot chocolate and the smell of books in a small town called Arkadia._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, Monday - Part I :)


	2. Monday: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waffles, Aunt Raven, and the first of many meetings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback so far! I really appreciate everyone taking a chance on this fic <3

 

The _rap rap rap_ makes Bellamy bolt upright and reach for the gun he no longer carries. But all his fingers grasp are the blanket that’s fallen to his waist. After a moment of confusion, his eyes adjust to the sunlight filtering through the blinds, the warm quilt wrapped around his torso, and he remembers.

He's not somewhere in the desert—he's in Arkadia. Without Wells. And someone’s at the door.

Breathing in deeply, he puts his face in his hands for a moment.

The key turns in the lock and Kane walks in, saying, “Wow, he must be a sound sleeper—hello!”

“Morning,” Bellamy replies tiredly. Then he registers blonde hair over Kane’s shoulder. Clarke waves before looking away quickly. He frowns, until Zach pokes his head around Kane and exclaims.

“Where’d you get that scar?”

“Zach—” Clarke hisses, but he runs out of her reach and right up to the mattress. His little hand comes up to poke at Bellamy’s chest — his very naked chest.

Bellamy has never blushed in his life, but he comes really damn close in this moment.

“I—uh, sorry, force of habit,” he mutters, mostly so that Kane doesn’t think he’s weird, then reaches for his shirt. After pulling it on, he ruffles Zach’s hair. “That’s what happens when you fight an _alligator,”_ he whispers conspiratorially.

The boy’s eyes widen to saucers. “An alligator! Mom, did you hear that?”

“I heard.” Clarke’s gaze shines with amusement.

Bellamy grins. “He was a nasty old fellow who lived in the swamp down in New Orleans. You see, I got too close to his home. So he came after me with a huge _chomp chomp,”_ he claps his hands in the form of a mouth, right in front of Zach’s awestruck face. The boy gasps. Bellamy tweaks his nose. “Lucky for you there’s no alligators anywhere near here.” He winks up at Clarke. “Right, mom?”

“Got that right. Me and reptiles do _not_ get along.” Clarke pats Zach’s head. “Sweetie, you want to look for that book downstairs while Bellamy gets ready?” To Bellamy, she says, “We’re kidnapping you.”

“For waffles,” Zach whispers.

“Is that so?” He stands and stretches with a yawn, then catches Kane’s concerned gaze flitting between him and the mattress. “Way better than any bedroll,” he assures, and the man relaxes.

“The mechanic’s coming by today to look at the radiator.” He takes Zach by the hand. “Come on, bud. Let’s go see about Percy Jackson’s next adventure.”

Clarke lingers for a moment after they leave. A corner of her mouth lifts crookedly. “Alligator?”

Bellamy shrugs sheepishly. “Fell off my bike.”

Her peal of laughter revives the butterflies in his stomach in no time.

* * *

The red leather of their booth seats seems even brighter under the sun shining from the windows. Their hostess greets Clarke with a cheerful hug, launching into a story even as she scribbles down their orders and retrieves some coloring puzzles for Zach. Now he’s busy coloring in the blue lightsaber with a determined look that rivals his mother’s.

Bellamy hides his grin in another sip of coffee, looking outside. People are already bustling around, unbothered by the cold under their layers of sweaters and hats and scarves. The morning sun does help with that, he has to admit. It at least made their walk a little distracting. His fingers haven’t quite thawed yet, though.

When he looks back, Clarke is studying him almost quizzically. He raises an eyebrow. She grins.

“Sorry. I just—I know yesterday was a lot. How are you?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “Still processing, I guess.” She nods, stirring her coffee idly, but her expression is thoughtful. “Clarke,” he says, waiting for her to look up. “You look like you have a question.”

“I have a lot of questions,” she admits. The spoon settles in her cup with a clink. “It’s—I feel like I know you, and yet I don’t. But I want to.”

The words make his heart lurch unexpectedly. Clarke looks surprised at herself. There’s a dash of pink on her cheeks as she lets Zach distract her for a few minutes, complimenting his latest work. Bellamy dutifully does the same when the picture is shoved in his face, but he doesn’t forget.

So when the waffles are set in front of them and Zach is happily munching away, Bellamy reaches over and taps Clarke’s wrist.

“You can ask. I don’t mind. I have questions too.”

She smiles and tucks hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture. “I’ll try to start simple. You said you were in the army with Thelonious?”

“He was my commanding officer. Met him on the second day of training camp.” He smiles slightly at the thought. “We didn’t exactly hit it off.”

“He’s not the easiest to get along with,” Clarke agrees.

“Yeah. But we were kind of stuck together whether we liked it or not. He was pretty new, so they, ah, gifted him with the latest recruits. We—we may not have been the easiest bunch.” He pauses to take a bite of the waffle and murmurs wordlessly in approval, making Clarke giggle.

“Good?”

“Better than good. What is _in_ that syrup?”

“Secret recipe. I plead the fifth.”

He laughs. “Fair. No wonder Wells used to rave about this place.”

She rests her chin on her hand. “When did you two start talking?”

“It was after his father died.” Bellamy closes his eyes against the memory. “I’d promised—I’d promised Jaha I would tell his son. He kept saying we had a lot in common, that we should meet. I felt like it was the least I could do.” He exhales and sits back, taking a slow sip of coffee.

Clarke waits, ever understanding. “Were you with him? When it happened?”

He looks up. “Wells never told you?”

“No. Just said he was gone, and that was that. He didn't want to talk about it. He— he hated everything about the war. He hated fighting, period.”

In retrospect, he’s not too surprised to hear that.

“I was there,” he says instead. “Our whole unit was. It’s strange, you know. I still remember waking up that morning and being glad it was just a patrol day. We were already taking bets for our poker game that night, trying to get Jaha to gamble on his precious watch…” He trails off, shaking his head. If he closes his eyes right now, he thinks he might still be able to feel the heat coming off the sand, smell the stench from Charlie’s flask, hear Rick’s taunting—

“Bellamy.” Clarke’s got her hand over his.

He blinks. “Sorry,” he mutters, but she won’t let him pull away.

“Don’t be,” she says firmly. “It happens to the best of us.” The way she says it, like she _knows,_ gives him pause, but he’s not ready to ask yet.

“We were there,” he finishes, rather lamely, but she just nods encouragingly.

“And then you wrote to Wells.”

“Yeah. The first letter was kind of strange,” he explains. “I didn’t even know what I should say. So I ended up talking about the book I was reading, mostly because his father had recommended it.” Aimlessly, he stirs his coffee. “It felt like the right place to start. He always said Wells liked the author.”

“Which book?”

_”Runaway Jury.”_

Clarke smiles. “Oh, he worshipped Grisham.”

“I figured as much when I got three whole pages back. I wasn’t really expecting a reply, but then I realized I kind of had a lot to say too. And the rest is history, I guess.”

“Wells loved it. He kept saying he never thought he’d meet someone as nerdy as him,” she teases.

“My sister said the same thing,” Bellamy replies, grinning. “You’ve known him since pre-school, right?”

“My mom was good friends with Thelonious. So we had a lot of play dates. And it’s such a small town, there’s only one elementary school, one middle school…” Clarke grins. “You get the picture. So we were pretty much joined at the hip. Everyone thought we'd end up dating, but..." she wrinkles her nose. "He was like my brother, you know? Oh! Here, you have to try these home fries. He would have insisted on it.” She slides her plate over.

“God,” Bellamy groans between bites. “I know where I’m coming for breakfast every day. Maybe even lunch and dinner.”

“Yeah!!” Zach cheers loudly, waving his fork. “Mom, can we have waffles for dinner?”

Bellamy grins apologetically at Clarke, who pretends to think. “I dunno, little man. We might be too full from _all that ice cream,”_ she tickles him endlessly as he giggles. To Bellamy she explains, “He’s seeing his Aunt Raven today. Fro-yo is pretty much a given. There’s a shop around the corner from her house.”

“Sounds like a pretty good deal. You got a favorite flavor, Zach?”

The kid doesn’t even hesitate. “Oreos and peanut butter! Just like mom.”

Bellamy files that away for future use as Clarke laughs and hugs Zach close. “I’m a bad influence.”

“Not from where I’m sitting,” he replies.

She ducks her head and changes the subject, but can’t quite hide her beautiful smile the rest of the meal.

* * *

Aunt Raven is a little scary.

Bellamy’s seen a lot of strange and awful shit in the army, and yet—Raven’s shrewd, narrowed glances make him wonder if he’s going to need any of his old training.

In the end it’s Zach who thaws her icy exterior, chattering on about how Bellamy has agreed to join them for dinner and even help with Christmas decorations. Which, in all fairness, is true. Bellamy finds it very hard to say no to the little guy. Not to mention his mom seems to get a huge kick out of it.

“I’ll be back to pick you up before dinner, alright? Be good for Aunt Raven.” Clarke kneels down for a hug and a few sloppy kisses from Zach before letting him run off.

“He’s always fine, don’t worry.” Raven looks past her to Bellamy. “No funny shit, soldier.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Clarke pinches the bridge of her nose. “Raven. It’s fine. Seriously.”

The dark-haired girl purses her lips, but finally nods and pulls her into a quick hug. “I’ll see you around,” she says to Bellamy. It sounds more like _I’m watching you,_ but he just waves and calls bye to Zach.

When he and Clarke are about a block away from the house, she quietly mentions that Raven and Wells had been… _something._

Bellamy nearly stops. “He never said he had a girlfriend.”

“He never said he had cancer, either,” Clarke responds wryly. “Anyways, I'm not surprised. They both refused to define it. He was already a ticking clock, and I think it made it all too real.” She kicks at a stray pebble. “But… they were close. If things had been different—” She sniffs and shakes her head. “Never mind.”

“I get it,” he says quietly. “But you should’ve told me before we went in. I would have at least said something—”

“That’s why I didn’t. Raven _hates_ it. Those looks, the pity. Anything comes close and she just clams up.” Clarke sighs. “She’s my best friend, Bellamy. And I know she’s hurting. But she just has a different way of dealing with things.”

After a minute, she says, “Zach seems to help. I don’t know what it is, but… she seems more at peace when he’s around.”

“He’s a great kid, Clarke. Really. You should be proud.”

“Thank you.” She glances at him sidelong, a corner of her mouth turning up. “Go ahead and ask.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Has it always been just the two of you?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Zach’s dad was around early on, but it just wasn’t working. He’s not a bad person, just… he didn’t want to be a dad. Felt like he wasn’t ready, like it was holding him back.” Clarke shrugs. “We were young. I told him it was better he leave then, before Zach really got attached. I didn’t want him to hurt that much at such a young age.”

Anger flares in Bellamy’s chest. “I’m sorry. You deserved better than that. Both of you.”

She shrugs again. “I just hope it wasn’t too rash, you know? Some days I wonder if I deprived my kid of a father figure.”

“From what I’ve seen, this town has plenty of those to offer, and they’re all more than willing,” Bellamy replies with a nudge. She smiles briefly. “And in any case, you’re doing a great job yourself, Clarke. Zach just needs role models, period. Screw gender.”

That startles a laugh out of her, but gratitude flits across her face anyways. “Thanks, Bellamy.”

“I mean it. Don’t worry so much about that kind of thing. My mom raised both me and my sister herself, and I turned out just fine.” He means for it to be cheeky, but when she looks up in surprise, he remembers they’ve only known each other for a day. "My sister and I grew up on the West coast,” he explains. “Mom got sick when I was in college. Between the medical bills and tuition… it became a lot. Octavia — my sister — she got a job, scholarships, whatever she could. But it wasn't enough. So I dropped out and entered the army instead. Figured I could trade a few years if it meant being able to take care of mom later.”

“She must be quite a woman,” Clarke says softly.

“She is. She lives in the Philippines now with my grandma. We never had enough money to travel back then.” Bellamy pauses to pop a mint in his mouth. “But now me and Octavia go a few times a year. I wanted to buy _lola_ a house on the coast or something, but they insist they like where they are.” He smiles. “I don’t mind, as long as they’re happy.”

“Wow. You’ve had quite a life already. And only 30, to boot.”

“31,” Bellamy corrects with a grin. “Smooth, princess.”

Her cheeks color. “Shut up.”

“You sound pretty experienced yourself.”

“I hit the big 3-0 next month.”

“Oh I see, wild winter child,” he teases.

“Me and Zach,” she laughs. “He’s a December baby, and I’m January. You?”

“August.”

By this time they’ve reached the main street again, which Clarke affectionately calls “downtown.” They come to a stop at a corner across from the bookstore. Clarke twists her fingers together and turns to him.

“Okay. So I was thinking we can walk around a bit? I’d like to take you to Wells’ favorite spots, maybe introduce you to a few people? If you’re up for it.”

“That would be great…”

“But,” she prompts.

He grins. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but don’t you have better things to do?”

Her laugh makes a few people stop and stare. “Normally, yes, I’d be at the middle school,” she admits. “But a friend agreed to sub for my classes today. She owes me a favor, and anyways the kids will be thrilled to watch a movie for once. I never take sick days,” she grins.

Warmth blooms in Bellamy’s chest as he realizes she must have shuffled everything around for him last-minute. Clarke rushes on with her explanation.

“Plus, winter break starts this week anyways, so school’s only open until Wednesday. If that, with the weather that’s headed our way. So it’s not a big deal. I just—” She bites her lip, utterly disarming. “I really didn’t want you to be alone today.”

Bellamy swallows the lump in his throat, his voice coming out lower than usual. “Thanks, Clarke.”

Clarke loops her arm through his and begins marching along. “Of course. Any friend of Wells is a friend of mine.”

He has to admit, being Clarke’s _anything_ sounds perfectly fine at the moment.

* * *

They spend the next couple of hours wandering through town.

Bellamy meets more than a few people, and to his surprise, finds that it’s not hard to remember them later. First there’s the music teacher who Clarke always brings a mocha to every Monday afternoon, the same one who insists to Bellamy that she was “full of talent” while Clarke smiles and shakes her head, mouthing _lost cause_ behind her back.

“My poor mom had to listen to me play _Brown-Eyed Girl_ for _hours,”_ Clarke laughs afterwards. “So hopeless. But Wells, oh man. Wells was her favorite,” she confides.

“He mentioned something about a guitar,” Bellamy remembers.

“Yeah. He was incredible,” Clarke says. “The mochas were his doing. I’m just picking up where he left off.”

A narrow path encircles the park in the middle of town, breaking off into small trails here and there to loop between the trees. They walk along the perimeter, Clarke quick with a smile and wave to just about everyone they pass.

“We used to walk here every night. After dinner, we’d help clean up and then it was just our time, you know? Away from school and parents and everything. We'd do laps, just prolonging the day.” She quiets. "When he got too weak to walk, I used to bring him out here in the wheelchair. We'd just sit under the stars and talk. About everything." Bellamy nods wordlessly, already able to see the image in his mind. Then Clarke chuckles ruefully. "One day Jackson loaned us a wheelchair from the hospital. Murphy, uh, _borrowed_ another." Bellamy grins at that. "We were all out here, Jasper and Monty, Zoe and Harper. Even Raven. It's one of the best memories I have of him."

An older Asian woman calls Clarke’s name. Her face is half hidden under the hood of her puffy black coat. Clarke waves back, throwing an apologetic glance his way. He's not sure whether to be relieved or irritated at the interruption.

“Hannah!” Clarke greets the newcomer warmly. To Bellamy, she says, “Monty’s mom.” The woman sets down her grocery bags with a grateful thump. Clarke grins knowingly. “Getting ready for family dinner, huh?”

“As always. My boys are at the bakery all day getting ready for the storm.” Hannah replies. Her gaze switches to Bellamy. “Hello. You must be new.”

“Hannah, this is Bellamy Blake. He knew Wells,” Clarke says simply. The woman’s face creases in sympathy. “Bellamy, this is Hannah Green. She’s an admin at the school where I work.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says politely.

“Likewise. Did you just arrive?”

“Yesterday. From the Philippines.”

She lights up. “Really? My sister’s husband is Filipino. His family still lives back there, I think. You’ll have to stop by sometime and chat.”

He can’t help but smile at her gracious nature, watching her leave Clarke with a hug and a promise to have them all over for the next family dinner.

Clarke is pointing out a boarded-up shop across the street that Wells was going to help fix up when loud barking catches their attention.

Bellamy turns to see a familiar redhead jogging alongside three dogs, her hands bound firmly around each leash. The largest of the dogs, a black lab, bounds right up to him with excited barks. He kneels to greet him, chuckling when he receives a huge lick to the cheek in response. The dog puts his paws on Bellamy’s knees, tail wagging.

“Gus! Down, boy.” The girl grins at them. “Sorry. He’s a friendly dude.”

“Don’t be sorry. He’s great.” Bellamy strokes his head gently, reaching out a finger to the other two who inch closer to sniff, considerably calmer. “Gus, you said?”

“Yup! And this is Izzie and Max. I’m Zoe, by the way. We met yesterday, right?”

Now he remembers. “You work at the diner.”

“Zoe’s our resident Jack of all trades,” Clarke says fondly. “Waitress, dog-walker, babysitter, mechanic—”

“Okay that was just the one time because Raven was busy,” Zoe cuts in. “Raven’s the real mechanic around here.”

“Still,” Clarke says, undeterred. “If you need help, Zoe’s there.”

The other girl shrugs. “We all pitch in where we can. Everyone needs help sometimes.”

Bellamy smiles at that, already calmed by Gus’ presence. It takes him a minute too long to realize he’s been silently playing with the dog and basically ignoring the humans. He glances up sheepishly.

“Sorry. I—uh, Gus just reminds me of a dog we had in rehab. He was just there to hang out with us, basically.”

“Therapy dogs,” Zoe says excitedly. “Yeah, I’ve heard of that! They’re even bringing them into schools now, you know. During exam weeks. I don’t know if that says more about the school system or the students, but…” She trails off, grinning, and he laughs.

“They’re definitely a big help to us.” He gives each of the dogs a final pat on the head before standing. “Do you walk just these guys, or others, too?”

“Depends on the night. These three are my regulars, but now and then we get a fourth.” Zoe grins toothily at Clarke. “I draw the line at four, though.”

Clarke laughs. “You should have seen her in the summer, Bellamy. Five dogs, three who were the size of Gus here, and of course that was the night they spotted squirrels and raccoons. It’s a miracle Zoe still has all her limbs.”

“Thank god Kane was around,” Zoe shakes her head. “He’s like a fairy godfather when he wants to be.”

It’s not long before the dogs get restless, so Zoe soon takes off running again, the three of them racing along beside her. Clarke watches them go with open affection.

“She and Harper wanted to open up an antiques shop,” she tells him, picking up her story from earlier. “We were all going to pitch in to fix up that old store. There’s so much stuff just sitting in Harper’s garage. Wells said he wanted to donate some stuff too.”

“Is that still the plan?”

“Hopefully. It kind of got delayed with... with everything else." Her face clouds momentarily, and he wishes there was something he could do. But Clarke snaps herself out of it just as fast, aiming a smile at him. "I think it'll be a great spring project. I'm sure we'll see it through.” He gets the feeling she'll make it happen somehow.

On the other side of the park is a wide grey building that takes up nearly a whole block. Clarke sees him looking and pulls him over. They enter through a side door, emerging into a huge empty hall. Long horizontal lights hang from rafters that feel miles above his head. The sun streaming through the tall windows only amplifies how empty the place is. Standing in the middle of the floor, Bellamy suddenly feels very small. He can’t decide if it’s comforting or spooky.

“What is this?”

“We call it the Ark,” Clarke says. “It’s basically the one place in town everyone can gather. Mostly to celebrate.” She points to the wall opposite the door. “The stage usually goes there. We’ve had recitals, flower shows, fundraisers, concerts… you name it, it probably happened here.”

“The Ark,” Bellamy repeats, wondering why it sounds so familiar.

Clarke grins. “Yeah. Because all of Arkadia can probably fit in here.”

“Like… Noah’s Ark?” He asks, trying not to laugh. Her grin widens, like she’s waiting for him to catch onto a joke. “Who even…”

“You get one guess.”

It takes him thirty seconds. His laughter echoes loud in the empty hall, and soon Clarke joins in. "Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “Only Jaha.”

“Only Jaha,” Clarke agrees.

* * *

On their walk back through the park, a few more people stop them. They’re polite enough to him, but mostly they ask after Clarke and her mom — do they need any help with the yard sale, is the roof fixed, are they ready for the storm. Wells isn’t explicitly mentioned, but it’s obvious they’re checking in all the same. Jackson in particular makes it clear he’s not just protective of Abby, but Clarke too, sizing up Bellamy like an uncle might.

It makes Bellamy’s heart ache to think of how much she’s still healing—yet here she is, trying to help him too.

And apparently It doesn’t stop with him. Clarke seems determined to help everyone, as he learns.

More than one hospital employee assures her that her grandmother is looked after thanks to the home nurse Abby recommended; the science teacher compliments Zach’s latest class project; Jasper’s dad thanks her for keeping his son company on the last trip to Mount Weather.

They’re all very generous with their time and words—quite like Clarke. It becomes easy to see how she and Wells grew up here, how these same people informed their lives and molded them into adults.

* * *

“So I heard you met our friendly neighbors to the north,” Clarke grins at him over her hot chocolate.

They’re sitting on the edge of a pier that juts out behind the town’s lone police station, their legs dangling over the frozen pond. One of the spots she and Wells used to frequent during any season, when they just wanted a break from everything else.

Bellamy chuckles. “Briefly. And that was enough.”

“Some of them aren’t so bad. But Cage, ugh,” she shudders a little. “Such a sleazeball. He’s the mayor’s son. And boy does he act like it.”

That clears up a few things. He shakes his head. “Spoiled brat.”

“Understatement of the year,” Clarke mutters. She shakes her head and brightens, switching topics. “So you said you flew in from the Philippines. Do you live with your mom and grandma now?”

“Temporarily. After I got discharged, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do next. So I spent some time there, just enjoyed being with them again. My sister and her family came down to visit for a few weeks from Maine.” Bellamy pulls out his phone to show her a few pictures, grinning when she makes him stop on one of Kai sitting on his shoulders. “That’s my best man.”

“Look at those cheeks,” Clarke croons. “And that hair, god. Your family has great genes.”

“Thank you,” he says, greatly amused.

She flushes. “So you weren’t sure what you wanted to do after the army?” She says pointedly, and he muffles his laugh into his drink, letting her off the hook.

“Yeah. I was a history major in college, minored in lit. I figured I’d just teach, or something, before I dropped out. Now I don’t know.” He looks out at the pond. “I do miss being around books though.”

“Wells’ house is full of them. He’d have converted it into a library if he could have.”

_If he was still here._

The mood sombers. Bellamy knows it wasn't intentional—it's just one of those things that happens after you lose someone. Another cruel trick of the world to get used to.

They both sit quietly for some time, lost in the weight of their thoughts, until Clarke says, “I haven’t really gotten past his front door.”

Bellamy looks over to see her staring out at the water, her mouth set in a line. Only a day, and he already recognizes her determination, her fierce resolve. Tentatively, he puts his gloved hand over hers.

“Maybe we can try again one day,” he says gently. “Together.”

Clarke’s smile shakes but doesn’t disappear. “Together,” she agrees.

They sit quietly for some time, content to sip at their hot chocolate and just be, until Bellamy finally can't hide his shivers any longer. Smiling, Clarke gets to her feet.

“Come on,” she says, and takes his hand. “There’s one more place I want to show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Monday, Part II


	3. Monday: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More memories, meetings, and a mini-family dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the encouragement and kind words so far! It really means a lot that you're reading this fic and I love hearing your thoughts after each chapter :)

_“Come on,” she says, and takes his hand. “There’s one more place I want to show you.”_

They walk much further than he expects. Clarke walks with clear intent, mouth set into a line that's not quite a pout, not quite a smile, just pensive. She's clearly knows where she's going, so he follows without question, more captivated by her than his surroundings. Bellamy finds himself studying little things about her. The faded scar under her chin that makes him want to know if she's been in a scuffle or just clumsy; the light tap of her finger on her thigh to a beat only she can hear; the generous pull of her mouth when she smiles in greeting at yet another friend or neighbor, like they've made her day just by saying hello.

Now and then her eyes dart over to him, and he hurriedly shifts his gaze to an interesting street sign and tries to clear his head, wondering why he's had the urge to blush twice in one day now.

So he's not entirely paying attention to the path they take, not at first. But then she leads him past town limits, where both the people and the homes start to become few and far between. Before he can ask, she heads onto a beaten path that disappears into the trees. Growing a bit uncertain, Bellamy slows his pace, glancing back at the houses and businesses in the distance. She probably wouldn't lead him astray, but still. It's kind of a basic principle, not to follow strangers so blindly. He's so busy looking behind him that he bumps right into Clarke, his hand settling unconsciously on the curve of her hip before he snatches it away, firmly ignoring the sudden scent of lavender that's overwhelmed his brain.

Clarke turns, mischief glimmering in her eyes as she takes in his concern. "What, you don’t trust me?”

She doesn’t look bothered at all, just waits expectantly with her arms crossed like she already knows what his decision will be.

He can’t help but grin. “We only met yesterday.”

“Fair," she shrugs. "But you wanted to know Wells,” she says, turning around. “This is Wells.”

Bellamy hesitates a few more seconds, looking up at the sky with a slight shake of his head, then follows. Call it idiocy, call it faith; he’s not really sure what makes him go after Clarke, except that Wells trusted her, and he trusted Wells. They climb higher and higher, ducking under branches and crunching over rocks and twigs. Occasionally, Bellamy hears the hum of a nearby car engine before it fades again into the distance.

“It’s a lookout,” Clarke explains the third time she spots his gaze wandering. “You can drive up to it, or you can walk. Wells liked to walk.”

It’s not hard to see why. Even with the chill, the sun’s rays filter through the trees and highlight the greens and golds of the woods. The only other noises come from the occasional small animal skittering in the grass or high up between the branches. There's only the crunch of their footsteps and the breeze whistling through the trees. The town has long faded behind them. It’s soothing.

Eventually Clarke reaches back for his hand, tugging him off the path, and a few seconds later they emerge into a wide paved clearing. Aside from two picnic benches, the semicircle is empty of any structures or people. Bellamy is barely paying attention, too busy gazing out at the view before him.

The patchwork of colored roofs and houses is only separated by the greenery of the park. The grey pavement stitches the town together like an old blanket—worn and familiar. The Ark stands out easily, bulky and massive on its own block. He can almost point out the school where Clarke teaches, with its bright red shutters against brick. Closer is the cerulean rooftop of the bakery she’s promised to take him to later. Across the street, the sloped roof of the diner where they ate breakfast, the same one that’ll need the slats replaced on the left soon. And so it goes.

Clarke’s beaming at him when he finally turns to her. “Wells used to sit right there.” she points at the picnic bench. “Usually he’d be reading or writing. Now and then he’d just sit and think. He said it was calming.” She nudges him lightly. “He'd have wanted you to see this.”

“Thanks." It feels like a feeble thing to say, but it's all he's got at the moment, too struck by the view and the thought of just sitting up here with his friend, discussing everything and nothing. Clarke doesn't nudge him for words. Gradually he manages, "This is really something. I was always looking for places like this, to just get away, be with my own thoughts.”

"Something tells me your thoughts found you no matter what," Clarke teases gently, and Bellamy ducks his head, wondering at how quickly she's learned him already.

He looks at the evergreens, and the bare trees scattered between. “I bet this is a sight in the summer, with everything in bloom… Did you ever paint up here?”

"Sometimes, when I felt like lugging the supplies." She sighs wistfully. "It's always been gorgeous. Wells loved this town so much. There were so many people who couldn’t wait to grow up and move away, you know? He was never one of them.”

The way she says it makes him wonder something suddenly, but he’s too chicken to voice it right away, instead staring out at the town as if he can find the answer in there somewhere instead.

“What is it?” Clarke’s caught him thinking again. “You can ask me anything. Really.”

Bellamy clears his throat a few times, still unsure. “Was he… is he…” He wishes there was a better way to ask this. “Is he buried here?”

“Yes. We insisted on it,” Her smile is bittersweet. “He said he still wanted to be near all of us.” Bellamy nods in understanding, looking back at the view until he feels a tug on his jacket. Clarke asks, “Do you want to see it?”

“Um. I mean, I don’t want you to— you don’t have to—” He fumbles until she places a finger to his lips.

“I go twice a week,” she says, and takes his hand. “Come on.”

* * *

Everything’s quiet near the cemetery. It’s like the trees close in, the roads narrow, the traffic fades all on purpose. The small field is enclosed by a white fence lined with flower beds. It’s strange, to see such bright pops of color surrounding all the gray and white of the tombstones.

Bellamy’s feet stop well before the entrance. Clarke halts beside him, her hand still clasped in his. Her thumb strokes over his skin.

“We can come back another day,” she offers, but he shakes his head.

“I want to do this.”

She nods, standing beside him without a word even though he can’t force himself to move for a full five minutes. When he finally does take one step forward, and then another, he’s worried he might be bruising her hand with the force of his grip, except that then he realizes she’s clinging back just as fiercely and somehow it gives him the strength to keep walking until he sees it.

The headstone is a marble gray, letters flashing in the afternoon sunlight.

_Wells Jaha_

_Beloved son, beloved friend._

Bellamy’s eyes sting with sudden tears, but he doesn’t bother brushing them away this time, just stands there forcing himself to take in everything about the moment through his blurred vision.

Eventually he realizes he’s sitting on the ground, knees folded to his chest. Clarke is right beside him. Her position mirrors his, one hand draped over her legs, the other still entangled with his. Tears pool in her eyes but don't fall. Bellamy swipes at his own cheeks with the sleeve of his jacket, feeling the cold air dry away whatever tear tracks remain. Sniffing, he returns his gaze to the headstone.

Sunlight glances off the white petals of the magnolias that sit at the base, the fresh bundle bound in a purple ribbon.

“For dignity,” Bellamy murmurs to himself.

Clarke gives his hand a squeeze. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

“I…” He’s not sure how to tell her he’s laid the same flowers on far too many graves, but something about his face must tip her off, because she just shifts closer like maybe just her presence can offer comfort.

Above the flowers, his eyes catch on the quote he missed before.

_I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I'll go to it laughing._

“From Moby Dick. Wells loved that book ever since he picked it up in middle school,” Clarke says. “He had the quote picked out months ahead of time. Nerd,” she laughs, voice cracking.

Bellamy feels his own mouth stretch into a smile.

“You know they nearly forgot the apostrophe in _I’ll_ ,” Clarke says. “Wells would have hated it, subjected me to yet another lecture about our education system.” She shakes her head, looking at the grass. “I lost my shit in the store. I’m lucky the guys know me or I’m sure someone would’ve called the cops. Or a psychiatrist.”

“Sometimes the little things are the worst,” Bellamy says softly. When she peeks up, he smiles. “One of my guys… after he was gone, I was supposed to collect his belongings, as his CO. There was a letter on top of his stuff, and… his name was misspelled.” He shrugs. “I couldn’t believe it, you know? Like, in that moment I felt more pissed off about that than anything else.”

“Little things,” Clarke murmurs.

“Yeah.” He leans closer to inspect a corner of the headstone. “Is this a compass rose?”

“I had them engrave it in. He said—he wanted there to be some part of me on it. Told me not to tell him what it was, just to do it.” She smiles wistfully. “It’s kind of silly, but I got the idea while we were watching _Pirates of the Caribbean_. You know how Jack Sparrow always carries around that compass that doesn’t work? Well, Thelonious had this pocketwatch he took everywhere… it was this old brass thing. Said it’d been in his family for generations. But on the back, there was this design of a compass rose. I’ve always loved it.” She looks back at the headstone. “As soon as I thought of it, I knew that’s what I wanted.”

Bellamy momentarily lets go of her hand to dig his wallet from his back pocket. Flipping it open, he fishes out a small square photo, handing it to Clarke. A smile blooms on her face. Thelonious stands against the backdrop of a mountain, the pocketwatch proudly held in his hand.

“Where was this taken?” She asks.

“Afghanistan. We were hiking back to base camp. He insisted on stopping for a quick picture,” Bellamy remembers.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” He deepens his voice. ”Father Time stops for no man, Sergeant Blake. Not even one as handsome and talented as me.” He grins when Clarke laughs at his impression.

“Sounds just like him.” Clarke hands the picture back, then leans against him with a small sigh. “I really wish you could have met Wells.”

He closes his eyes, feels the breeze ruffle her hair under his chin. “Me too.”

* * *

The sun begins to set far too early in winter for his liking, so he has to remind himself that even though the sky is dark as they leave the cemetery, it’s not even 5p.m. yet.

Clarke’s hand finds his again on their way back into town, and it’s so natural to twine their fingers together that he doesn’t even realize they’re walking down the street holding hands until he notices a few looks directed their way. Most are curious; a few are noticeably protective; there’s the occasional approval, which is bizarre.

If Clarke notices, she doesn’t say a word about it, just leads him directly to the bakery lit up with a neon green sign welcoming one and all.

As they step inside, she tells him, “I always used to find Wells here when he was writing his letters to you. A book by his side and a latte well out of reach from the papers,” she smiles.

“I used to write back from the beach after I got out of the army,” he admits. “Before that, it was anywhere I could find a moment.”

An Asian boy emerges from the back, brightening as soon as he sees them. “Hey Clarke! No croissants today, sorry.”

“No problem. I’m actually not here for that.”

“Oh. Well, I was lying. There’s one in the back,” he grins sheepishly while Bellamy stifles his chuckle.

Clarke rolls her eyes and pulls him forward. “Bellamy, this is Monty Green, our resident baker and all-around awesome person. Monty, this is Bellamy Blake.”

The boy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ohh, you were the army pen pal!”

“That’s right.”

“Wells conveniently left out the part where he was sick,” Clarke says pointedly.

“Oh. Jesus.” Monty makes a face. “Seriously? All those papers I was so careful not to spill coffee on and he couldn’t have found a way to sneak it in there?”

Bellamy finds himself smiling. “It’s fine. I mean—okay, it’s not, but, I’ll be fine. It’s kind of nice to be here anyways.”

“You’re in good hands with Clarke,” Monty says confidently.

“Speaking of, I’m going to get my hands on that croissant,” Clarke says, and disappears into the back.

Monty leans in, whispering, “Chocolate croissants. Her weakness.” He winks.

“Noted.” Bellamy bends down to scan the display case. “Any other favorites? She’s invited me to dinner, and I don’t want to go empty-handed.”

“Is Raven going to be there?” When Bellamy nods, Monty points to one of the cakes. “Black forest cake. Can’t go wrong with that.”

“I’ll take it.”

While he’s paying, Monty offhandedly mentions that he knows someone in the army too. “A close friend of mine. Haven’t heard from him in like a month.” Though his voice remains casual, Bellamy isn’t fooled. “Close friend” or not, this person means something to him, and he’s worried. Clarke, having retrieved her croissant, is a little too quiet beside him.

A knot of dread forms in his stomach, but he doesn’t let it show. “We’re getting shifted around all the time out there,” he tells the other boy. “Your letter might not even have reached him, or it might be waiting at one of the main camps while he’s patrolling somewhere else. Trust me, it happens more than you’d think.” He smiles reassuringly. “My sister always gave them hell for it.”

The concern in Monty’s eyes fades a little. “Cool. Good to know.”

When they’re outside again, Clarke peers up at Bellamy every few steps, brow pinched. He adjusts the cake box in his bag and waits.

Finally she says, “He sucks at hiding it. I don’t even know why he tries.”

He shrugs. “I know love when I see it, Clarke. Don’t worry,” he adds, “I won’t say anything.”

“He’s not so private, once he trusts you. But I know it’s been hard on both of them, even without that stupid Don’t Ask Don’t Tell bullshit…”

Bellamy nods. “It’s okay. I get it.”

As they resume walking again, it doesn’t escape him that Clarke didn’t mention a name either, but he doesn’t push for one.

* * *

When they get to Raven’s house to pick up Zach, they hear a sing-along clearly happening well before the door even opens to Raven’s amused face.

“Thank god,” she says, pulling them inside. “I need backup.” Striding down the hall, she calls, “Zach, your mom’s here!”

Two pairs of identical groans sound from the living room. Clarke makes a noise of mock outrage. “Oh, I see how it is.”

“Five more minutes, mom, pleeeeease?” Zach gives her his best pleading eyes from the couch where he’s swaddled in a huge blanket. Beside him, the gangly boy who grabbed them in a hug yesterday — Jasper — offers a toothy grin.

“Yeah mom, pleeeease,” he echoes. He laughs when Raven throws a pillow at him.

She arches an eyebrow at Clarke. “See? Backup is necessary.”

Clarke grins, craning her neck to see the TV. ” _Aladdin_? You totally planned this.” To Bellamy, she says, “I can’t resist Abu.”

“Evil geniuses,” Raven mutters, flopping down on the couch. Jasper tosses an arm over her shoulders, which she promptly tosses right back off, but it doesn’t seem to faze him.

“So Jasper, you coming to dinner tonight?” Clarke asks, setting down her bag.

“Can’t,” he says apologetically. “I promised Monty I’d help close up and then dad and I are taking the truck to pick up supplies before the storm.”

“Boo. We’ll save you some chicken.”

“Probably not,” Raven informs him. He tweaks her nose.

Smiling, Clarke turns to Bellamy, who remains standing in the entrance. “Want something to drink?” She tilts her head to the left, and he gladly follows her to the kitchen. Ducking into the fridge, she emerges with a pitcher of iced tea. “Raspberry. That okay?” At his nod, she pours two full glasses.

After a few sips, she says, “They’re not together.”

He pauses with the glass at his lips. “Excuse me?”

She jerks her head at the living room. “Those two. They’re not together, if that’s what you were wondering.”

“It’s not my place to wonder,” he says honestly.

Clarke offers a half-smile. “Well. Even so. They’re… I don’t know. They’re closer now.” She traces the rim of her glass with a fingertip. “Jasper lost his girlfriend a few years ago. They’d been together since our senior year of college. He knows way too much about grief.”

 _Don’t we all._ “I’m sorry he had to go through that.”

“Me too.” She shrugs and straightens. “But… as weird as it is, he’s the only one who understands Raven right now.”

“Misery loves company,” Bellamy says, then winces. “Sorry. That’s morbid.”

“Not really. It’s true, after all.” Clarke sighs. “I’m just glad she’s talking to him. It’s good. She needs to talk to someone, even if it’s not me. I don’t want her to keep that stuff bottled up.”

Bellamy wonders if he’s reading too much into her voice, but it sounds like she’s speaking from experience. And it’s not the first time today that he’s gotten that inkling. Clarke glances up at that moment and reads him instantly.

“My dad,” she answers his unspoken question. “He died when I was 14. It was too easy to retreat, you know what I mean?”

“I know,” he says quietly, and places his hand over hers.

* * *

Kane joins them for dinner as they’re setting the table, stepping inside in time to see Zach fly out of the kitchen with a large bowl precariously encased in his arms. Bellamy follows right behind, helping the boy place the bowl safely on the table before offering Clarke a thumbs up. Kane greets him with amusement, which is a welcome change from Raven’s inquisitive gaze that’s been following him all evening.

Once again, Zach proves himself a worthy ally, deciding the ideal dinner conversation revolves around whether Elsa is keeping her ice castle as a summer home and whether Anna will ride into her own wedding atop Sven’s back. Clarke looks over a few times with a sheepish grin and shrug, but chimes in enough that Bellamy can tell this is a normal dinner for her. He’s thoroughly enjoying himself, reminded not for the first time of his nephew. They’d get along well, he thinks.

Eventually Zach scrambles onto Clarke’s lap, content to hang out there and play with loose strands of her hair while she finishes her chicken in bites. Bellamy hides his smile when he notices her wrinkling her nose at the broccoli but eating it anyways, pointedly waving it in front of Zach’s face. She’s agreeing with Raven about the irritating flirtations of a certain Prince Hans when Zach catches sight of Bellamy scratching at his neck. He reaches out a hand to clutch at the dog tags that have slipped out of his shirt.

“What are these?” He asks, fascinated.

Bellamy shifts his chair closer so the boy can trace the lettering overtop the tags without yanking on them so much. He chooses his words carefully, trying not to glamorize any bit of it. The kid’s still young, too impressionable.

“They’re… identifiers. To tell someone who you are, if you can’t. The army gives them to you.”

Zach’s eyes bulge. “You’re in the army?”

“I was.”

“Like with a gun and everything?”

He catches Clarke’s eye quickly, waiting for her nod before he says, “Yeah. With a gun and everything.”

“Wow.” The boy is completely hooked. “Did you go to war? What's it like?”

“Zach,” Clarke admonishes gently, but Bellamy shakes his head.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.” After a moment of thought, he finally gives the truest answer he can. “It's sad.”

The boy frowns. “I don't like being sad.”

“That's because you're already so smart.” Bellamy taps his nose. “So maybe you'll stay away from all that and make everyone happy instead, hmm?”

While Zach nods vigorously, Clarke mouths a grateful _thank you_ over his head.

Smoothly, Kane says, “Hey Zach, didn’t you like hanging out at the zoo with Jasper last week?”

“Oh yeah!!” He perks up instantly, bouncing on his mom’s lap. “It was so cool! There was a huge tiger, and a lion, and a hip-tamus—”

“Hippopotamus,” Clarke corrects with a smile.

“Yeah! He was my favorite. We named him Oscar. Right mom?”

She kisses the top of his head, grinning wryly at Bellamy. “Because he was a total grouch,” she explains, and he laughs.

* * *

After they’ve cleaned up, Kane thanks Clarke for dinner and excuses himself, saying he has a few errands to run before the night’s over. Clarke throws Raven a mischievous look, then heads to the kitchen, returning with a small red tupperware box.

“Marcus, could you do me a huge favor?” She asks sweetly. Bellamy bites back his smile. “Can you drop this off to mom on your way? She’s working another night shift, and she always forgets to eat properly.”

“Of course,” Kane murmurs.

“See if you can convince her to take a break while you’re there, too, otherwise she’ll just set this aside and forget about it,” she implores. “You know how she is.”

Kane smiles. “That sounds like Abby. I’ll do my best.” Waving to everyone, he heads to his car. Clarke shuts the door with a triumphant smile.

“You know he wasn’t fooled, right?” Raven says dryly.

“Who cares? He agreed. That’s the point.” Clarke wiggles her eyebrows, then points at Zach. “Alright, mister. You know what time it is.”

Zach pouts, but when his mom sets a hand on her hip, he doesn’t argue. Scrambling off Raven’s lap, he plants a wet kiss on her cheek, then surprises Bellamy by giving him a smacking kiss as well before trudging to the stairs. Clarke grins and tickles his sides, chasing him up the rest of the way until they can hear the boy’s squeals from the second floor.

Chuckling, Bellamy turns around and leans back on the couch with a sigh. The silence between him and Raven grows and stretches. It’s nothing like the quiet moments he and Clarke have shared already; it’s not bad, necessarily, just not as comforting at the moment.

Finally Raven clears her throat. “I’ll get the wine.”

“I brought cake,” he offers, following her into the kitchen.

“From Monty?”

“Yeah, it’s in the fridge. Black forest. He said it’s your and Clarke’s favorite?”

She nods, her back to him as she fiddles with the corkscrew. He retrieves it from the fridge and opens the box, cutting generous slices for each of them. As the soft pop of the wine bottle being uncorked reaches his ears, he searches for anything that might be a safe topic.

“I know Clarke told you about me and Wells.”

Raven’s voice cuts abruptly through his thoughts. He sighs. _So much for safe topics._ He turns around. She’s got one hand wrapped around the neck of the wine bottle, the other tightly clutching the corkscrew. Her back is still to him, shoulders hunched.

“How’d you know?” He asks.

“Please," she scoffs, facing him. “You’ve had that look all evening.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows fly up. He mimics her pose against the counter, folding his arms. “Is that so? Care to describe it?”

“Tilting your head, lowering your voice, slightly squinting your eyes, searching for any hint I’m about to break.” She rolls her eyes. “I almost punched you during dinner.”

He tries to fight back the laugh, he does, but a snort escapes anyways. Raven’s brow pinches.

“Well, now you’re more interesting,” she says slowly.

“I’m sorry. Really. I just—I had no idea I was doing that.” Bellamy offers a wry smile. “It’s the same look I get when people find out I was in the military. Right before they sweep me head to toe to catalogue if I’m missing any body parts.”

“And are you? Missing any body parts?”

“Depends on your definition I guess.” Lifting up a corner of his shirt, he points to the tip of a scar low on his abdomen. “My appendix didn’t really enjoy war anyways. Probably better it’s gone.”

Her eyes linger for a moment, but she doesn’t say anything. So he figures he may as well take his shot now.

“Look,” he says, “I’m not here to drag up old memories. I know about grief, and I’m not trying to make it harder for you by sticking around and being a constant reminder," he says. “But—I hate that he didn’t tell me, you know? I was pissed, and then I was just… I was just sad. So I stayed, in part because Clarke asked me to. And partly because I really wanted to know more about the guy I never got to meet. And if you hate me for it, well—I guess I can’t blame you.” Hesitating only a second, he adds, “You had a chance to say goodbye. I didn’t.”

Raven sniffs and hugs her arms around herself protectively, studying her feet. Everything in her posture is defensive. Bellamy can see the pain etched across her features, the emotion she fights to hold back more often than not. And he gets it. There are good days, bad days, shit days— and then there are just _days_. 

He hopes he hasn’t gone too far in making his point, but at the same time, he needed her to hear him. Because yeah, he probably is being selfish by hanging around — but Wells was his friend, too.

Just when he’s considering finding an excuse to leave, Raven straightens. Her shoulders square, her chin lifts, and her eyes meet his dead on. When she nods, he gets the impression he’s just passed some sort of test.

Clarke wanders into the kitchen then. “Zach’s finally down for the night,” she sighs. To Bellamy she explains, “He demands at least one story before bed. Which usually turns into three, because I can’t say no.”

“Smart kid.”

She grins, then looks between him and Raven with growing suspicion, picking up on the mood. “Did I miss something?”

“I think Bellamy’s the one missing something,” Raven says dryly, turning back to the wine.

When Clarke raises an eyebrow, he shows her the scar. “Had my appendix removed a while back. Not glamorous at all.”

“I see.” She’s still eyeing them both, until Raven finally swings an arm around her.

“Relax, Clarke. We were just chatting.”

“That’s what worries me,” Clarke replies, and Bellamy grins.

“Yeah, yeah. Grab forks for the cake, will you?” Without waiting for an answer, Raven heads into the living room with the wine bottle.

Clarke smiles at him after scooping up three wine glasses. “That means you should stay,” she whispers, winking.

* * *

“So you got past the best friend, huh?” Octavia sounds practically chipper on the phone. “That’s impressive, Bell.”

“O, don’t start,” he begs.

Her laugh is the only thing familiar about today. “Fiiiine,” she draws out the word. “But you’re okay there, right?”

Only his sister could go from teasing to worried in two seconds flat.

“I’m alright. Really,” Bellamy assures. And, to his surprise, it’s not entirely a lie. “It’s— it’s like I’m getting to know the rest of him, the stuff I didn’t read in letters. Does that sound weird?”

“No,” she murmurs. “It sounds like what you need.”

He lays back on the pillow, staring at the flickering ceiling lights. “I told Clarke I’d go to his house with her. When she was ready.”

Octavia sighs. “Of course you did.”

“You think it’s a bad idea?”

“I don’t know,” she says after a long pause. “I think only you can make that call.”

“Yeah. I guess so.” He draws a hand across his face. “It just— it felt like the right thing to do.”

“Then it is,” Octavia says with her usual conviction, and he smiles.

“I miss you guys.”

“I miss you too, but don’t think I’m flying into a snowstorm to say hello when I can be lounging on a beach.”

Bellamy snorts. “Thanks, O.”

“Anytime, big brother.”


	4. Tuesday: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dreams, books, and flirting over ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the wonderful feedback so far! I love reading your comments and it really makes me excited to continue sharing this story.  
> A few chapters got _way_ longer than expected, so I've split a couple more days in order to not rush any scenes and still be able to fine-tune some other details before posting. Which leads me to, Tuesday Part 1 :) hope you enjoy!!

_”I can’t keep up!”_

_”Yes you can,” Bellamy slings the younger boy’s arm over his shoulders, hauling him along. Miller glances back at him, concerned, but doesn’t say anything. Bellamy’s not sure he’d have the breath to reply anyways. His ribs protest every movement; each step is a battle against the shooting pain in his ankle._

_But if his guys don’t make it back to camp, then he doesn’t deserve to either, so he puts his head down and tightens his grip on his friend._

_“Just a few more minutes,” he says, and repeats himself every time Charlie stumbles or sags._

_They don’t hear the tell-tale whistling of a missile cutting through the air until it's too late._

 _"Take cover!" Miller's yell is drowned out by the blast. The truck in front of them bursts into flames, sending shrapnel in every direction._

_Bellamy doesn't know how he got on the ground. The ringing in his ears, or maybe it’s buzzing, drowns out everything around him. Even as he shakes sand from his eyes and tries to focus on Miller’s mouth forming frantic words, all he can smell is burning flesh, the stench invading his nostrils and making him retch and retch—_

Bellamy wakes drenched in sweat.

His heart’s pounding a mile a minute; his eyes can’t adjust fast enough. Everything’s dark—too dark.

Shrugging off the covers, he stumbles to the lone window and lifts the blinds, blinking against the moonlight that rushes in. His breath sounds too loud in the small room. Soon the space is flooded with light, so that he can make out the shape of the lumpy blanket, his bag by the mattress, the outline of the closed door. No one here but him and his ghosts.

After a few seconds, he throws the window open for good measure. The air outside is cold, shockingly so—it’s a necessity, for him to remember that _this_ isn’t a dream too. His heart beats a wild tattoo against his chest as he leans on the windowsill, hauling air into his lungs. One hand wraps around the dog tags, letting the edges cut into his palm until they sting.

His head is resting on his forearms when he finally begins to shiver. Taking one last gulp of the cold air, he closes the window again, but doesn’t bother going back to bed.

It’s a familiar pattern. He’s never done anything as scary as sleepwalk or hallucinate, but the dreams are vivid enough that he swears he can still feel the thick smoke searing his throat, the hot burn of the sun on his neck. It’s those things that usually stay with him long after the dream has faded.

There’s no sleep coming now.

Slowly, meticulously, Bellamy forces himself to fold the blankets and then the comforter, trying to get his mind to focus on the calmness of the task instead of the frantic pace of his dream. When he’s done with that he digs in his bag for the copy of _American Gods._ But that doesn’t distract him for very long, and soon he’s throwing on a hoodie and wandering downstairs into the bookstore.

Kane was right—the place is dusty, and definitely old. Bellamy likes it. Walking among the racks, he breathes in the undeniable scent of worn pages and leather covers, brushing his fingers along the occasional spine. At the end of one aisle, he switches on the lamp attached to the wall, enveloping the room in a soft glow.

Soon he finds himself in the kids section. It’s comforting to return to the books of his childhood. They’re the stories his mother used to read to him; the ones he now reads to Kai. Maybe, someday, to his own kids.

Strolling through one of the stacks, his eye catches on a particular title that definitely doesn’t belong here — _The Outsiders._ Bellamy rises to his toes to retrieve the paperback. He flips through the first few pages, his eyes catching on the names that became so familiar to him over the course of many readings. Ponyboy. Johnny. Sodapop. Dallas.

_I still can’t believe Ponyboy just ran away without talking to his brother._ Wells' voice is loud and indignant in his head, just as he'd imagined it while reading his third letter. _Obviously Darry was just being protective. He’s had to be the father and mother figure all in one, and then his baby brother comes home bleeding after a fight? Of course he’s pissed._

Bellamy smiles faintly, remembering how he’d responded.

_Yeah, or maybe Darry needed to just lay off and let Pony explain his side of things before blowing up at him. Of course the kid ran; his idol had just turned on him._

Okay, so maybe he didn’t actually think that at all, but it had been fun to play devil’s advocate, just because he was curious about the response. Wells had called him on it instantly _— If that were your sister, don’t tell me you would have been calm, Sergeant —_ and so had begun a fun back and forth that lasted months.

Settling down on the floor, he leans back against the bookshelf and stretches his legs out, propping the book open in his lap.

_When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home…_

* * *

“Bellamy?” A hand touches his shoulder. “Hey. Rise and shine, son.”

Blinking drowsily, Bellamy lifts his head from where it’s drooping on his chest, wincing immediately when his neck protests. Kane crouches before him. There’s concern written all over his face, but it’s mixed in with enough understanding that Bellamy knows the man won’t question him much.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, gingerly trying to twist his neck one way, then another. With a sigh, he looks at Kane. “You just opening up?”

“Yeah. It’s only me.”

“Okay.” Bellamy takes the offered hand, letting Kane pull him to his feet. He picks up the book from the floor and smoothes the pages down before carefully putting it back on the shelf.

Kane’s watching him closely. “You can keep it upstairs, if you like.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’ve read it before. I just needed to get out of that room for a bit.”

“Fair enough. Why don’t we get you some coffee?”

At the stairs, Bellamy pauses, then turns back to him. “Listen, uh, can you—can you maybe not say anything to Clarke? About this?”

The older man’s eyes crinkle in sympathy. "One condition." Bellamy waits. "You'd call me, or someone, if you needed help. Right?"

"I would," he says firmly. When Kane doesn't seem entirely convinced, Bellamy sighs. "Look. It's— it's just a part of me now. Like how I'm allergic to kiwi, or how I can't make _adobo_ without hearing my mom's instructions in my head, or start a car without remembering what it was like to drive a tank. But it doesn't own me. It's just something else to get used to." He pauses. "I'd prefer to tell Clarke on my own, rather than have her find out from someone else."

Kane assesses him for a long moment, then nods. “Alright. She won’t hear it from me,” he promises.

* * *

Kane keeps his word. By the time Clarke drops by the store with Zach in tow, Bellamy’s standing on a ladder trying to retrieve a huge box of books while the other man looks on apprehensively.

“Watch it, that other book—yeah. Shift left a little? Sorry, your left—”

Clarke’s laughter tinkles behind them. “Putting him to work already?”

“I volunteered,” Bellamy calls back. “Right now I can’t remember why.” With a grunt, he eases the box off the tall cabinet and takes a wobbly step down the ladder. Kane’s arm shoots out to grab his sleeve; at the same time, a firm hand rests on his back.

“Got you,” Clarke says. Bellamy hands the box off to Kane, then hops down, turning to her with a grin.

“Thanks, princess.” He kneels to high five Zach. “Hey bub. What’ve you got planned today?”

“Ice skating!” the boy tells him. “Mom’s favorite.”

Bellamy looks up at Clarke. “Is that right?”

“I like it,” she says nonchalantly, but her eyes sparkle.

“I see.” He adds that to the ever-growing list in his head—then wonders what exactly he’s saving all these facts for. Pushing the thought away, he turns to Zach again. “Before we go, wanna meet some of my friends?”

“Yeah!!”

He grins and turns his back, still kneeling. “Alright, climb on to your magic carpet.”

Zach clambers on with glee, his arms linking tightly around Bellamy’s neck. Once Bellamy’s sure he has the little boy’s legs securely tucked at his waist, he glances up at Clarke in time to see a strange expression disappear from her face. Curious, he stays stuck to the spot until Zach begins to wriggle.

“Bellyyy,” he pleads.

“Alright, alright,” Bellamy laughs and stands, glad to see Clarke smiling again too. “Hang on! Here we gooooo!” He jogs slowly through the aisles, a smile on his face as the boy’s delighted squeals echo throughout the store. “So what’re you reading now, Zach?”

“Harry Potter!”

“We just started the second book,” Clarke adds behind him.

Bellamy rounds the corner to the young adult section. “Awesome. You got a favorite character yet?”

“The Weasleys," Zach says promptly, and Bellamy laughs, glancing over his shoulder at Clarke.

She's grinning. "Their big family reminds him of our dysfunctional family," she says affectionately. "Loud and weird and nerdy—"

"And awesome," Bellamy interjects, bumping her shoulder.

"And awesome," she agrees, nudging him right back.

Zach squirms, a leg flailing in his excitement. “Where are your friends?”

Bellamy pats his leg and brings him in front of a familiar shelf, reaching out a hand to trace the spines. “Here we are. There’s Holden, and Scout, and Boo Radley. And here’s Captain Nemo and Gatsby and Daisy.” He taps Zach’s little hand. “You’ll meet them all when you’re older.”

“Really? Who else?”

“Let’s see… well there’s Winston, definitely.” Bellamy winks at Clarke. “Any friends you remember?”

“Lizzie Bennett,” she says immediately. “And Uncle Wells had a huge crush on her,” she whispers.

They continue like that, walking through the stacks until the front door chimes. They head up front slowly, Zach chattering away about _how cool Nearly Headless Nick is_ while Clarke grins rather proudly. As they emerge from the bookshelves, she leans over to pinch Zach’s cheek, opening her mouth to say something to Bellamy, when the newcomer speaks.

“Clarke?”

She turns in surprise. “Mom!”

The brunette standing in the entrance looks rather startled, though whether it’s at Bellamy’s presence or the fact that Zach is still clinging to him, Bellamy doesn’t know.

“Gammy!” Zach releases one hand to wave furiously. “Look, I have my own magic carpet!” He declares, tugging at Bellamy’s shirt.

Snapping out of her surprise, Abby smiles fondly at the boy. “I see. That’s sounds like fun, Zach. Who’s your new friend?”

“Mom,” Clarke interrupts. “This is Bellamy Blake. He used to write to Wells, remember? They were pen pals. Bellamy knew his dad.”

Just like Kane, Abby doesn’t take long to catch on. “You were in Thelonious’ unit,” she says.

“Yes ma’am.”

The term slips out automatically. Clarke looks over in amusement, and even Abby’s mouth flickers in a smile. It’s gone as soon as it appears, though, and Bellamy knows she’s thinking of Wells. She looks to Clarke, clearly not wanting to be rude. But it’s Kane who comes to stand beside her, lightly touching her back.

“Wells apparently didn’t inform Bellamy of his… situation.”

Abby’s eyes widen. Bellamy looks away before she can turn the full force of her pity onto him. Thankfully, Zach chooses that moment to tug on his hair.

“Belly, can we fly again?”

 _“Zach,”_ Clarke is in full mom scolding mode. “What have I told you about pulling hair?”

Chastened, the boy sticks out his bottom lip. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Bellamy assures him. “And yeah, I think a few of my friends are still hiding on the top shelves. Hang on!” He speeds off again into the racks, and soon Zach is giggling once more.

When he thinks enough time has passed for the others to fill in Abby on everything, he comes back out. Zach slides down his back, but his little arms continue to hug Bellamy’s waist. It’s easy to pat his head and hold him close, until he looks back up and sees that expression on Clarke’s face again. It takes her longer to hide it this time, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to analyze it the rest of the morning.

* * *

Abby accompanies them to the diner, where they all crowd into a booth. This time, Clarke ends up beside Bellamy as Abby sits next to her grandson. Bellamy dutifully tries to ignore how easy it would be to slide his arm along the back of the booth, let Clarke lean fully against him while they talk. He can't even believe he's thinking about that right now, with her son and her mom just a few feet away. She makes him feel like a teenager, the way his throat locks up and his hands fidget.

Thankfully, no one else is paying him any attention while he sorts out his thoughts. Zach has eagerly latched onto his coloring book and is proudly showing off his latest work to Abby. Clarke looks on with a smile, occasionally adding a remark or two. After their coffee arrives, she turns to Bellamy.

“Sleep okay?” Bellamy blinks. _How could she possibly know?_ But then she continues, “That pullout mattress always gives me a backache.”

He breathes a small sigh of relief and takes a sip of his coffee. He hadn't been lying to Kane when he said he wanted to tell Clarke. But right now, right here, isn't the time. And frankly he's not in the mood to relive that. He wants to think about Clarke and Zach and Wells and Arkadia.

“It’s fine. Really. I meant it when I said it’s better than anything we had in the army.”

“Good." She rests her chin on her hand, a glimmer in her eye. "So what do you think about ice skating?”

“Ice skating,” he repeats with a grin.

“Wells and I always go skating in the winter. There’s an outdoor rink just past City Hall.” She smirks. “You know, the tiny little building under the water tower?”

Bellamy laughs with her. “Yeah, I think I remember seeing that on the way in. But… I’ve never done it before.”

Clarke lights up. “That’s okay! I’ll teach you.” When he chuckles at her excitement, she pouts. “What? I taught Zach, and he’s already a pro. Right buddy?”

“Yeah!!!” The boy thrusts his crayons in the air, then gets immediately distracted by the stack of pancakes the waitress brings over. Abby’s watching the whole thing very curiously; Bellamy tries not to notice.

“So?” Clarke tugs at his arm pleadingly. “What do you say?”

He attempts to resist one last time. “How about I just watch?”

“Aw, that’s no fun. Come on, please! I won’t let you fall.” Clarke is all but bouncing in her seat, and he hangs his head with a resigned sigh.

“I’m gonna hold you to that, princess.”

* * *

He is seriously questioning his sanity an hour later, watching Clarke lace up her skates like a pro while Abby helps Zach. Skeptically, he eyes his own skates and the thin blade.

“It’ll hold up,” Clarke has a knowing twinkle in her eye as she walks over. “Need help?”

Bellamy nods, sheepish. “Please.”

“No shame in asking for help,” she says with a tap to his knee. Soon he’s standing on shaky legs, a hand on the bench and the other squeezing Clarke’s hand in a death grip.

“I feel like Bambi.”

She laughs and pulls his arm over her shoulders, sliding her own arm around his torso. “Come on, Bambi.”

 _This is going to do wonders for my ego,_ he thinks, but shuffles along with her.

Thankfully, there aren’t too many people on the rink this morning. Aside from Zach and Abby, a few others mill about, but keep a safe distance. Zach’s already on the rink, one hand tightly clutching Abby’s, the other waving frantically at them to join.

“We’re coming!” Clarke calls. She steps onto the rink first, then turns to face him and holds her hands out. “Alright, slowly. One foot at a time.”

The minute his left foot hits the ice, Bellamy knows it’s going to be a long morning. He grips Clarke’s hands far too hard as she urges him forward.

“Whoa,” his laugh trembles in the air. “This is weird.”

“Good weird?”

“Yeah. Just—don’t let go yet, okay?”

Clarke smiles and squeezes his hands. “Promise.”

Bellamy spends the next hour trying not to feel like a complete failure as he slides one foot in front of the other, attempting to keep his balance and at the same time not crush Clarke’s fingers every time he feels wobbly—which is a lot. But Clarke has an endless supply of patience. And even better, she has stories.

"My dad taught me to skate," she explains. "While mom was at work, we'd come out here day after day and wobble and fall and get back up again I don't know how many times." Her smile is tinged with sadness. "After the accident, I couldn't even think about the ice rink without getting upset. It was Wells who eventually brought me back, day after day. Sat with me when I couldn't even lift a foot onto the ice, just listened to me talk about how much I missed him." 

"He must have been a great guy. I'm sorry," Bellamy says sincerely.

"He was. You'd have liked him. He was so easy to talk to."

Bellamy's foot lands off balance, and it takes all of his self-control not to collapse in a heap on the ice. "Sorry," he says meekly, letting go of the death grip he had on her arm. "So Wells said he was an artist?"

"Mhm. He used to manage a gallery in Mount Weather for a while. But he got tired of traveling everywhere, so he sold it and came back here to teach. Mom used to joke that he was more of the stay-at-home-mom than she was." Clarke smiles. "I loved having him back. Hogged him every second of the day."

Bellamy nods. "When mom came home from the hospital for the first time, O and I used to fight over who would get to make her breakfast in bed, who got to read her the newspaper, who would take her for a drive..." he chuckles. "We opened the curtains in every room of the house. Like we were finally ready to let the sun back in now that mom was home. It sounds kind of silly..."

"It's not silly. I get it. You said she'd been sick for a while right?"

"Breast cancer." He offers a tight smile as Clarke sucks in a loud breath. "They caught it early. She was lucky. The surgery removed all the infected nodes, and with the added chemo she's been in remission ever since." He closes a hand over his dog tags for a moment.

"She is lucky," Clarke agrees softly, squeezing his forearm. "Especially since she had you two to dote on her. I bet you're quite the mother hen."

He shrugs, a bit embarrassed that she's pinpointed him so well. "You'll have to ask my sister that. Wait. Actually, don't."

She laughs, then pulls at his jacket when he reaches for the railing. "Uh uh, not yet! How are you ever going to learn that way? It's like riding a bike. Let go of those training wheels." He groans, but figures he's allowed to tighten his grip on her all the same.

Thankfully Clarke has more stories to distract him from the fool he's no doubt making of himself. Like how Wells slowly but surely cajoled, poked, and prodded her back to the ice day after day despite numerous mishaps. All the afternoons she spent on the couch with her sore muscles while he made hot chocolate and popcorn and put on her favorite movies. How they taught Zach to skate in much the same way. About all the bumps and bruises she suffered on both occasions. And all the laughs.

“I was always the impatient one,” she says, guiding his foot back. “Wells hated it. He said that’s how half our problems always started. Probably more than half.” She grins up at him. “Now I have to be patient for the both of us. This is his revenge.”

Bellamy grins right back. “He’s definitely saying _I told you so.”_

“Totally.”

He’s too busy staring at her happy smile, so of course that’s the moment the tip of his blade catches in the ice and throws him off balance. Trying not to fall face-first, he overcompensates and ends up landing hard on his back, the air punched from his chest.

Clarke’s face appears above him, soft hair tickling his cheek as she leans down in concern.

“You okay?”

He groans. “I can’t decide what hurts more, my ass or my ego.”

“I wouldn’t worry about your ass.” She winks and pulls him up, laughing when he can’t seem to close his jaw and just tugging him along once more.

When he’s not busy being gobsmacked by Clarke, Bellamy catches Abby looking in their direction a few times. It’s not a hostile gaze; more like genuine motherly interest for her daughter. He has a feeling she wouldn’t mind asking him some questions, but seeing as Clarke refuses to leave them alone — likely on purpose — that might have to wait. In any case, Zach is a welcome distraction for all of them, especially once he decides he wants to show off for everyone.

Grinning, Bellamy leans gratefully against the railing to watch the young boy whirl around. Clarke calls out encouragement and occasionally goes to skate with him, moving with a graceful ease that he both envies and admires.

“You should stay with Zach, I’m fine,” he tells her when she returns for the third time.

“Even if you were fine, which you’re not, I get to do this every year with him.” She looks at her feet, then out at the rink, her expression sombering. “I’d at least like to enjoy this with you while you’re still here.”

Bellamy nudges her. “Believe me, I’m not objecting to that at all.”

Clarke smiles shyly and nods. “Good. So come skate.” She tugs on their joined hands until he skates forward a bit hesitantly. He’s fine for a few seconds, and then he can’t figure out how to slow and ends up grabbing her other arm to avoid crashing into her. Clarke squeals and takes a fistful of his jacket as they wobble on the ice.

Then Abby manages to get a hold of Clarke, and Bellamy feels a small hand slip into his own. "Thank you,” he tells Zach.

“You’re welcome! I fell all the time when I started,” the boy declares proudly.

“Yeah, I’m not very good at this.”

The boy shakes his head just as fiercely as his mother. “You just need practice. Practice makes perfect, right mom?”

“That’s right, little man. You heard him, Bellamy.” Clarke loops her arm through his. “Practice, practice, practice.”

“Please don’t sing that song,” he whispers. “My nephew _just_ stopped last week. I don’t think I can take another round.”

She giggles. “He likes _Swan Princess?”_

“Mostly Jean-Bob and Speed.”

“Fair enough. We won’t make you revisit that.” She leans closer. “Zach might sing _Learn to Do It,_ though. Kind of a tradition.” Skating along slowly beside him, she asks, “So did you have any favorite movies growing up?”

“Not really,” he admits. “I was more into mythology and all those stories, you know?”

She grins. “Not a fan of the Disney _Hercules_ then, huh?”

He chuckles. “It's not bad. Just not for me. I dunno. I guess I always had my face in a book. It was easier to live in my head sometimes.”

“I get that. But you can't tell me you weren't a liiiittle bit envious of Beast’s library.”

“Oh man,” he laughs. “I was so jealous. I told my mom I wanted one just like it when I grew up. With those sliding ladders and everything.”

Clarke giggles, doing a little half spin on her own. “Okay, then tell me this. What's your favorite myth?”

He considers. “Have you ever heard of Halcyon days?” She shakes her head. “They’re named after the goddess Halcyon. Her father was controller of the winds,” he explains. “She was married to a mortal, Ceyx.”

“Really? Was it arranged?” Clarke asks.

“Sort of, but they were so in love it didn’t matter. Anyways, the story goes that Ceyx was journeying to Delphi to consult the Oracle, but on the way he got caught in a storm. Despite Halcyon’s pleas for the gods to keep him safe, he died. She was so upset that she threw herself in the ocean just to be with him.”

Eyes wide, Clarke pokes him when he pauses for breath. “Do _not_ tell me it ends like that.”

“I’m not that morbid,” he teases. “Zeus was so impressed by her commitment that he turned them both into Kingfisher birds, so they could live out their days together.”

“Wow,” Clarke murmurs. “But that still doesn’t explain the Halcyon days.”

“Wells said you were impatient,” Bellamy retorts, grinning. “Early on after their transformation, Halcyon was only capable of laying her eggs in the winter, and they kept getting washed away by the rough weather. So Zeus granted them a period of time during the winter where the weather would remain calm, so that she could lay her eggs in peace.”

“Halcyon days.”

“Yup.” He smiles. “That’s how it ends.”

“Beautiful,” she sighs, and he bites his lip to keep from answering, _yes, you are._

“It's even better when you read it," he says instead. "If I ever get that suitcase back I'll show you.”

“Oh trust me, we're getting that back,” Clarke says almost darkly, and he laughs, tweaking her nose.

“Look out world, princess is coming.”

She swats his hand away but blushes nonetheless, and even though he falls on his face five seconds later from staring too long, he decides it was a fantastic five seconds anyways.

“So what about you?” He asks, getting to his feet. “Any favorite movies?”

“I always loved Anastasia,” she says, wistful. “We had that soundtrack on _a lot_ in the house. My dad mostly got stuck watching it with me. I used to do little sketches of her in the living room while he'd paint upstairs. He knew all the words to each song. And I loved Pooka, of course. Wanted him all to myself. But mostly I liked that it was about her wanting to find her family. She was so determined, against all odds.” Clarke's smile turns nostalgic. “And I kind of wanted her red hair for myself.”

Bellamy laughs. “Really?”

“Yeah! It was so gorgeous and _different,_ you know?”

“True,” he allows. “But for what it's worth,” he tucks a long strand behind her ear, “I think this fits you pretty perfectly, too.”

Clarke seems to be struck speechless. Which is both entertaining and endearing—that is, until she loses her footing and squeaks, grabbing at his coat in a futile attempt to stay upright. Instead, they both land in a heap, and Bellamy finds the breath knocked out of him for the third time that morning.

“That one was your fault.” Clarke's breathless accusation is muffled into his coat collar, but he laughs all the same, his heart giving a wild flip when she grins up at him.

As they get to their feet, his muscles protest loudly, and he winces. “I think I might be done for the day. Or the the week.” He looks over. “This was fun, though. Really. Thanks, Clarke.”

Clarke beams and tangles their fingers. “You’re welcome. Now let’s go find some hot chocolate and scones. There’s nothing scones can’t cure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: more Mount Weather peeps, and dinner with Mama Griffin.


	5. Tuesday: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visitors, more books, and dinner with Mama Griffin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments and your patience! :)

They’re sitting on a bench people-watching with their scones — blueberry for him, chocolate chip for Clarke — when there’s a commotion across the street. A long black sedan pulls up, followed by two news trucks that hurriedly park and begin to dissemble around the other car.

Curious, Bellamy sits up and squints into the sunlight. Next to him, Clarke picks at her nails disinterestedly.

A few cameramen converge onto the street first, setting up for a perfect shot as the newcomers emerge from the sedan. First is a woman whose mass of brunette curls lift freely in the breeze, her long green coat giving a cheery appearance against the winter cold. Bellamy recognizes from the newspaper Kane left on the counter. Arkadia’s mayor, Luna Castor.

Three more people step out after her, two women and a hulking man. The darker of the two women has a sharp face, her expression seeming permanently stern aside from the wry curl of her mouth for exactly one second. She glares more than she speaks. Everything about her screams _don’t even try._ The man seems to have even less to say, though his dark eyes are observant. And then there’s the brunette, the pin on the collar of her pantsuit glinting in the sun while she converses easily with Luna. Despite the cold, her dark coat remains fashionably unbuttoned.

The trio is clearly the main attraction for the cameras, though Bellamy can’t help but notice that the rest of Arkadia’s residents continue on about their day with nothing more than a glance or two at the group. They’re either used to it, or they’re unimpressed. Maybe both. The latter makes him grin faintly, thinking of the remarks Octavia would probably be muttering if she were here.

He looks over his shoulder at Clarke. “They’re not from around here, are they?”

“That obvious?” She grins back. “Mount Weather folks. Indra’s the scary one in front. The guy beside her is Roan.”

“And the brunette?”

“Lexa. She comes around once a month to meet with the mayor, schmooze some of the business owners. Sometimes more, now that she needs the votes.”

“Votes?”

“She’s running for mayor of Mount Weather this summer, against the Wallaces. They've been there forever,” Clarke explains. “It’ll be tough, but if anyone can do it, she can. Especially with Indra and Roan beside her.”

“How does Arkadia factor in?” Bellamy wonders.

“Technically our town limits extend further out, bordering Mount Weather. She has to make nice with the neighbors, you know? Usually she comes to meet with our town council and Mayor Luna.” Clarke’s voice turns thoughtful. “Lexa’s smart. Good strategy, great public speaker. She definitely has support. I think she might actually have a shot.”

Bellamy eyes her sidelong. “Sounds like you know her pretty well.”

Clarke tries to shrug nonchalantly, but at that moment Lexa glances over at them. She smiles at Clarke with a tiny nod—polite, but definitely familiar—then turns an appraising gaze onto Bellamy, giving him a slow once-over that makes his spine straighten as he stares right back. Finally her expression shifts back into the cool and collected one from before, and she turns back to her group.

“Damn,” he says. “Guess that answered my question.”

“What?” Clarke sits up. “What are you talking about?”

He smirks. “Your ex definitely just scoped me out, princess.”

“She did not!” Clarke blinks and shuts her mouth abruptly while his grin widens in triumph.

“Ha! I knew it! Clarke and Lexa, sittin’ in a tree, k-is-s-” He breaks off laughing when Clarke claps a hand over his mouth, punching his shoulder with a tiny balled up fist until he catches both her wrists and fends her off. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Relax. I don’t care, Clarke. Now if you dated Cage—”

 _”Eww!!”_ She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Don’t even joke about it. I’d never. I don’t even want to go near him.”

“My point exactly.”

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t tug her hands from his right away.

* * *

When Bellamy returns to the bookstore later, he finds Kane precariously perched atop a ladder, trying to retrieve a box of books. He hurries over to help, taking the box from the older man before holding the ladder steady as he climbs down. Kane wipes his brow with a grin.

“Thanks. That was heavier than expected.” Bellamy grunts in agreement, stretching out his muscles a little extra long. “Sore?” Kane asks knowingly.

“A little. It was worth it.”

“Always is.” Kane sounds wistful, and Bellamy wonders if he's maybe thinking of another Griffin. He hadn't missed the look in the other man's eyes when they left this morning—the one that said he wished he could join.

He finishes stretching and tucks that thought away for later. “So what is all this?”

Kane peels back the thick tape holding the lid closed, then tosses the lid aside. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I took this place over just a few months ago—they wanted to knock the whole building down, make room for some new restaurant or another.” He shrugs. “Couldn’t let them do that.”

“Oh?” Bellamy leans against a shelf. “Who’s _they?”_

“Mount Weather business owners. Always looking to expand.” Kane smiles grimly. “Financially I’m a bit more burdened, but it was worth it to makes sure they got the message. Arkadia’s not their playground.”

“You think the new mayor will remember that?”

Something about his voice makes Kane tilt his head in study. “You met Lexa.”

“Not exactly. We just saw her and her little group doing a photo op.” Bellamy doesn’t bother hide his distaste for politics. He’s never liked it, never will.

“Hmm. Well, believe it or not, part of her platform includes a focus on improving her own town instead of worrying so much about the neighbors. Something I heartily support.”

“Sounds nice,” Bellamy agrees. _If she sticks to it._ The other man raises an eyebrow, and Bellamy shrugs sheepishly. “Did I say that out loud?” At Kane’s grin, he sighs. “I guess it’s not fair to judge without knowing anything about her. I just — I hate politicians. Always talking, never actually working.”

Kane chuckles. “Not entirely a false assessment. You’re more than entitled to that opinion.” He stacks more books on the table beside him. “Still, compared to the current regime in Mount Weather, Lexa is a breath of fresh air. And believe it or not, Indra can take a joke now and then.” His grin fades. “Now if they’d only let me keep the place next door, too…”

Bellamy tilts his head. “What’s next door?”

“It’s an old shop, unused for a year when the last owner left. Nobody can really decide what to do with it.” Kane shrugs. “They’re probably going to demolish it, take over the space for another fancy chain or other. But I would’ve liked to keep it, even extend the bookstore into that space.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Don’t have the funds. Nearly emptied my account just to keep them from taking this place. With all the renovations that one would need… just wasn’t possible.”

Bellamy frowns. That’s unfair on so many levels. Yet another reason politics make him seethe. “So who owned the place before you?”

Kane pauses, an arm outstretched and book in hand. After a few seconds, he slowly rests the book on its shelf, then swivels to look at him apprehensively.

“No one told you?”

“Told me what?”

The other man raises an eyebrow. “Look around, son. Who do you think took care of all this?”

Bellamy glances at the books surrounding them, the way some shelves are crammed to the brim, yet others remain empty, almost as if inviting their brethren to join the fray soon. Even the books that are squeezed in are done so with care, not an extra bend in the page or a cover torn in the process. Their past homes may have been less than kind, but there’s no doubt that they were treated with respect by their new owner. Bellamy wonders how he didn’t see it sooner.

“Wow,” he breathes. “Seriously?”

“It never came up in your letters?”

He shakes his head. “Wells just said he was a collector of things people liked to throw away. I assumed antiques or something…” Bellamy whistles softly, taking in the bookstore with a new appreciation. “So this was his,” he murmurs.

“Yeah. In a way I guess that wasn’t a lie, what he said.” Kane pulls out another book, showing him the inscription on the front. “He was always telling people to drop off any book they didn’t want. Said he’d find a place for it here, somehow.”

“I bet he would have.” Bellamy shakes his head, starting to grin. “You know, I’m starting to get offended at how much he kept from me.”

Kane chuckles. “Tell me, were you more forthcoming with him?”

“Of course,” Bellamy starts to say, then stops, thinking about it.

Was he? It had been second-nature to mention his nephew and Octavia as much as he did—they were easily the biggest part of his life, besides the military. And Wells had focused on his father or Clarke, saying little about himself aside from their lengthy literary conversations. More often than not, their letters had been an exchange of stories. Bellamy had told him about the things he saw overseas, the men in his unit. And in return Wells had shared his anecdotes about the town he loved, about Clarke.

Bellamy smiles ruefully at Kane. “Maybe not as much as I thought.”

Kane claps a hand on his shoulder. “Funny how much you can know about someone and still be surprised, right?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat and rocks on his heels. “Listen, do you need any help? I mean, I was going to offer before I knew— don’t think I'm just—”

Kane laughs. “Relax. I’ll gladly accept your help.”

They spend the next couple of hours unpacking boxes and marveling over the great condition most of the books are in. Bellamy’s impressed. He thought he was the only one who hated seeing creases in a spine or pages cornered, but apparently Wells has managed to one-up him in this regard. Kane leaves at one point, only to return with a steaming cup of coffee that he sets beside Bellamy without a word. Kane’s good like that, he’s learned. The man seems to know when words are necessary, doesn’t force chatter into the silence otherwise.

It’s peaceful with the books. Bellamy finds himself opening each cover, fingers skimming reverently over the notes scribbled on the inside or along margins. At some point, this book was cherished by someone. And when that stopped for whatever reason, Wells took over that job. He smoothes down cover after cover, historical fiction to poetry to fantasy, sometimes pausing to read aloud an inscription that makes Kane laugh too. They both take their time shelving each book in the right section or setting it aside in their “undecided” stack, and even though it makes the whole process take longer, Bellamy finds his mind considerably clearer when it’s done.

His phone cuts through the silence, lighting up where he set it on the front counter. He smiles as soon as he sees Clarke’s name.

“Hello there.”

“Hey!” Her voice is barely discernible above the clamor. “You’re coming over for dinner tonight.”

“I am?”

“Zach’s orders. He’s decided you must try our famous cajun chicken tacos.” Clarke’s voice gets distant as she yells something. “Sorry about that,” she says cheerily. “So we’ll see you soon, right?”

“Sure,” he laughs. “Is it just you two?”

“Mom’s coming,” she says, and he can just tell she’s rolling her eyes. “Ooh! Are you at the bookstore? Tell Marcus to come too. That way he’ll have no choice but to walk mom home.”

Bellamy grins, lowering his voice. “Smooth, princess.”

“Hush. Bring him with you,” she orders. “Six o’clock sharp.”

He’s still smiling when he turns around. Kane raises an eyebrow. “I’m guessing that was Clarke.”

“Yeah. Dinner tonight at six, her place. Zach’s treat, apparently.”

Kane laughs. “Count me in. That gives us time to get through one last box, I think.” He glances knowingly at Bellamy. “Unless you were planning on getting there early to help out?”

Bellamy tries to shrug nonchalantly, but it fails. “I thought about picking up dessert, or maybe wine or something, beforehand. If that’s not weird?”

“It’s not weird. It’s courteous. Come on, help me with half the box and then you can leave early.” All too sly, Kane remarks, “By the way, Clarke likes reds.”

“Uh—thanks,” Bellamy manages. Apparently he’s become quite the open book himself.

* * *

A half hour later, he finds himself standing on the front porch nervously tugging at his collar and wondering if he shouldn’t have gotten both the wine  _and_ cake, the box is going to slip right from his sweaty hands and make a damn mess right here on the porch—

The door opens, but it’s not Clarke standing there. Bellamy straightens.

“Mrs. Griffin. Uh, hello.”

“Hi, Bellamy. Clarke said you’d be coming by.”

“Yeah. I—ah, I’m early. Sorry. I thought maybe I could help out?” Belatedly, he holds up the box in his hand. “I brought dessert too.”

Abby smiles. “That was very nice of you. Clarke’s still out getting a couple things, but I’m sure Zach wouldn’t mind having some company besides grandma. Come on in.”

Zach throws up his hands with a cheer when he sees Bellamy walk into the kitchen, and he barely has time to hand off his items to Abby before the boy launches himself at him.

“Whoa little man,” Bellamy laughs, hoisting him up. “Your mom said you’re making us dinner?”

“Tacos!!” Zach yells excitedly.

“Zach, indoor voice,” Abby reminds with a smile.

He nods, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth in a manner so like his mother that Bellamy has to chuckle. Setting Zach down, he gives a formal bow.

“So how can I help, Chef Zachary?”

The boy’s mouth opens in a perfect _o_ , apparently at a loss, his brain unable to decide what he wants to do first. Finally Abby sets a hand on her grandson’s shoulder and suggests that Bellamy help with chopping vegetables. He pulls out a purple cutting board, smiling when he finds multi-colored knives farther along on the counter. It hasn’t escaped his notice that nearly every room in this house is full of colors; it’s like the artist in Clarke can’t help but show herself in all aspects of her life.

Seeing Zach clearly wanting to help, Bellamy looks around and is struck by an idea. “Hey bud, you want to draw me a picture of the awesome dinner we’re going to be eating soon?”

“Yeah!!” Zach scrambles onto a chair, reaching for the crayons already scattered on the kitchen table. Conveniently, a stack of blank paper isn’t far. Bellamy’s starting to get an idea how Clarke manages to get things done. As Zach begins to draw, he requests, “Can we listen to _Beauty and the Beast?”_

Abby has the CD ready before his sentence is done, popping it into the player with a quick smile at Bellamy. As then first notes of _Be Our Guest_ float in the background, he chops onions at the counter, smiling to himself when he hears Zach merrily singing along. Soon Abby comes to stand beside him, rinsing chicken in the sink.

“So you knew Thelonious from the army,” she says curiously.

He reaches inside his shirt to briefly pull out the dog tags. “Since training camp. He was my Command Sergeant. We butted heads in the beginning, but… he was a good guy. Always looking out for us.”

“And you were the one who wrote to Wells? Or did he find you?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “It was me. I, uh—” He pauses to clear his throat. “Jaha was always talking about Wells. After he was gone, I just… I felt like I needed to do something. So I wrote the first letter.” He smiles faintly. “I didn’t even think I’d get a reply, let alone all this.”

“Wells was a good man,” Abby says softly, and he pretends not to notice her brush her sleeve past her eye.

After a minute, he ventures, “You and Jaha were friends for a long time, right?”

“Yes. Since college. We met in an ethics class.” Abby smiles to herself at the memory. “He was always so passionate. Never backed down from an opinion.”

“No he didn’t,” Bellamy agrees. “Neither did Wells. Though he was nicer about it.”

“Wells was more polite than half the town combined,” she says fondly. “So polite and so patient. Nearly the opposite of Clarke.”

“Clarke’s polite,” Bellamy says without thinking.

“She is now.” Abby smirks. “Not so much when she was younger.”

He chuckles. It’s not that hard to imagine, honestly. Clarke’s stubborn streak is a mile wide; it makes sense she wouldn’t have much of a filter to go along with it. Though she’s certainly more refined now. Or maybe that’s just because of him? He frowns. He doesn’t want her to feel like she has to be polite for the sake of it.

“What’s on your mind?” Abby has the same look on her face that his mother gets when she’s about to throw her two cents in.

“I… well, I just don’t want Clarke to feel like she has to be extra nice to me or anything because of— because I’m new. She can be herself.”

“Clarke isn’t nice to just anyone. Well, she is, but—that’s different. She’s generous. Always giving people the benefit of the doubt. But she’s extra nice to you because she likes you so much,” Abby says without pause, and he nearly slices his finger off.

Clarke chooses that moment to open the front door. “I’m back!” She announces. Zach’s already racing towards her.

“Mom, look who’s here!”

“Oh? Who’s that?” Clarke’s smiling as he tugs her into the kitchen, and when she sees Bellamy her face lights up like a summer sun. “Bellamy! You’re early.” Setting down her grocery bag, she eyes the ingredients scattered along the counter. “They put you to work already? _Guys,”_ she scolds.

“It was my idea,” he assures her. “Plus Zach promised to draw me a picture of what we’re eating. Right, bud?” He ruffles the young boy’s hair affectionately.

“Well if we’re gonna do that I think we need markers, too,” Clarke says, and that’s enough to have Zach heading for the stairs. She laughs and begins to unload her bag.

“Bellamy brought dessert,” Abby says, wiping her hands on a towel. “And a bottle of your favorite, blackberry syrah,” she adds, disappearing into the living room.

Clarke aims a dazzling grin in his direction. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“It wasn’t a big deal. Besides, you’re making dinner…”

“Please,” she waves him off. “I’m so happy to have company. Usually it’s just me and Zach, and we’re the two laziest people on the planet.” She grins and ducks her head into the fridge. “If you let us, we’d eat ice cream for every meal.”

“My nephew would love that,” he chuckles.

“My kinda guy,” she declares. “Alright, so what did they have you doing? Chopping veggies? Here, let me get around you.” Her hands rest on his waist for just a second as she passes by. Even through his layers, the contact sends a little jolt through him. “Why don’t you get the beans going first? I trust you with the spices. We can finish the veggies later while the chicken’s getting done.”

As they get to work, Bellamy mentions, “Kane said he would join after closing up.”

“Perfect. I bet you ten bucks he’ll bring an extra something for mom. You watch.”

“You expect me to bet on chivalry? No way.”

She giggles. “Fine. That’s too easy. How about… I bet you he’ll insist on walking her home without me asking.”

“Also chivalry, princess,” he points out with a grin.

Clarke wrinkles her nose in an adorable pout. “Fine. You tell me, then.”

Bellamy thinks about it for a few minutes. “Alright. I bet that Kane will, with no prompting from either of us, ask your mom to go ice skating tomorrow.”

“Hmm.” Clarke’s intrigued, there’s no hiding the sparkle in her eye. Still she shakes a finger at him. “No encouragement?”

“None whatsoever,” he promises. “I’ll just bring up how much fun today was and thank you guys for bringing me.”

“And I’ll say I figured I should drag mom outside the house on at least one of her days off. After that it’s up to him,” Clarke agrees. “Okay!” She bounces a little on her toes, then sticks out her hand to shake. “You’ve got a deal.”

* * *

Bellamy wins.

He’s not even the one who brings it up initially. Abby notices him trying to work out the kinks in his back — not as discreetly as he’d hoped — and mentions over the second helping of garlic bread that some extra heat might help his sore muscles. He’s nodding his thanks, already wondering how to nudge the topic further, when Kane interjects with a story of his first skating experience.

“Blood everywhere,” he tells Bellamy. “Landed flat on my face and broke my nose.”

Bellamy fights a shudder. “Thanks for not mentioning that this morning.”

Kane chuckles, then looks at Abby. “You know, it’s been a while since we’ve been out there. When’s your next day off?”

“Oh. Actually—”

“It’s tomorrow,” Clarke pipes up, maybe a little too earnestly, but she seems to have forgotten all about their bet, focused solely on playing matchmaker. Bellamy hides his grin by taking another huge bite of the taco. “You should go, mom! It’s supposed to be a gorgeous morning anyways.”

Abby looks taken aback, though not entirely opposed. “But what about the bookstore…”

“I’ll open up,” Bellamy says, surprising them all. “It’s no big deal. I’m sleeping right above it anyways. I can hang out there for a while, maybe do some more organizing.”

“Perfect, I can help out too,” Clarke chimes in.

Kane looks at him a little longer than the others, no doubt remembering how he found him just this morning, but to his relief doesn’t comment on that. Instead he gives a small nod of thanks, then turns to Abby.

“Well, looks like I’m free,” he smiles. “What do you say?”

“It sounds nice,” she says, and Clarke nearly throws her hands in the air before pretending to just stretch across the table for more bread. Eyes shining, she throws Bellamy a wink and mouths three words.

_It’s a date._

* * *

“So,” he asks when Clarke’s settled cross-legged beside him on the couch, “when were you going to tell me the bookstore used to belong to Wells?”

Her mouth drops open. “How…”

“Kane told me. He thought I already knew.”

“Shit.” She closes her eyes and sinks back into the cushions. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess—” She’s back to biting her bottom lip again, brow pleated in thought.

Bellamy gently sets a knuckle under her chin, waiting until she opens her eyes. “I’m not mad,” he promises. “Really. It’s okay.”

Clarke nods. “I guess I was just afraid you wouldn’t stay if I told you that. And then… I just kept finding reasons not to bring it up. Didn’t want to send you running now that you were finally here.” She shrugs at her lap, clearly embarrassed, and he’s overwhelmed for a moment by a thought—she really wanted him to stay.

A poke to his shoulder makes him look up. “Are you mad?” Clarke asks worriedly.

“No, not at all. I understand. It’s not something you can just… bring up.” He pats her hand until she relaxes. “Just tell me one thing. Did he ever live there, or—”

“Oh god, no!” Clarke shakes her head furiously. “That would just be weird. I wouldn’t have done that to you! The room upstairs wasn’t even a room until Marcus took over. Just a huge storage space. He’s the one who converted it into a studio.”

Bellamy shifts to face her. “He and I spent all day unpacking boxes. Wells has some _very_ heavy books.”

That pulls a smile out of her. “If you think those were bad, his house is ten times worse.” Clarke nudges his knee with her foot. “But you won’t be alone for that either.”

“I know.” Bellamy smiles and reaches for his wine. “So tell me, are those the stories you read to Zach at night?”

She brightens. “Depends. Mostly we do fairytales. He loves them. His imagination just runs wild. Sometimes I’ll ask him to describe what he’s thinking, and I’ll draw it on the spot.” She points to a couple of the drawings on the walls. “That one, there, we did the other night.”

He stands up for a better look. “Dragons?”

“And trolls, and witches.” She laughs. “Not gonna lie, storytime is for me, too.”

“I’ll bet. This is really cool, Clarke.” He looks around the living room. “Are all of these yours?”

She shakes her head. “Only a couple. Most are works that I found in galleries while traveling, or things my students have done.” Clarke gestures to the painting that hangs above the entrance to the kitchen. The sun rises over a sleepy town, bright hues chasing away the darkness of the night. “My dad painted that one. It’s my favorite.”

“It’s amazing,” he says softly. “He was very talented.”

“Yeah, he was.” She sets down her empty wine glass. “Did you see the ones by the stairs? Zach’s doing.”

Bellamy grins and makes his way over, identifying a red cape, something like a gingerbread house, and a snarling black wolf.

“Ah, there are the fairytales. Been doing a lot of those lately?”

“Oh yeah.” Clarke leans in with a gleam in her eye as he sits down beside her again. “I've been going to the bookstore and flipping through the teen section—don't give me that look!” She shoves him playfully. “Hear me out. There's a couple authors who are reimagining the old fairytales. So I just browse the cover, get the summary, and make up the rest for Zach. Sometimes I'll even let him create the story. Kind of like a “What comes next’ kind of thing.”

“He's lucky to have such a great mom,” Bellamy says softly.

Clarke pinkens, but shrugs, forever modest. “I'm just doing my best.”

“Your best is a hell of a lot better than most people’s.”

Her mouth curls up shyly before she looks down, playing with a thread on her shirt. It might be the wine, but he finds himself more reluctant than usual to stop watching her, so he lets his eyes trace the curve of her cheekbone, the alluring sweep of her shoulder that peeks out from the shirt she’s clearly cut the collar off of, the way her bottom lip catches between her teeth when she’s thinking about something important.

Then Clarke looks up. “You should come by tomorrow night. Tell Zach one of your mythology stories. I know he'll love it.”

Bellamy’s flattered. “You don't mind?”

“Why would I mind?”

“I just—I don't want to interrupt your time with him or anything—”

Clarke's palm clamps firmly over his mouth. “Nonsense. You’re coming, and that’s that.” Eyes twinkling, adds, “You’ll have a very attentive audience, so make it a good one.”

He pries her hand off, but holds on a few seconds longer than he should. “As you wish, princess.”


	6. Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More exploring, worlds colliding, and bedtime stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow so that was a much bigger break than I intended. I really wanted to get this chapter right, so it just took a while longer. Hope you're still with me and really hope you enjoy it!

It’s Clarke who finds him asleep among the books the next morning.

Bleary-eyed and groggy, Bellamy first sees the pale tone of her hand as she moves the book off his lap. Then the blue of her eyes when they meet his. They carry no pity, just empathy. His mouth opens to explain and instead meets the pad of her fingertip. Her skin is soft against his lips, the simple touch chasing all thought from his brain. After a moment, she closes his jaw with a gentle smile.

Clarke carefully sets the copy of _City of Thieves_ back on the shelf, then sits next to him shoulder-to-shoulder without a word.

It’s a comfortable silence. Unassuming and without judgment, just like her. Bellamy is reluctant to be the one to break it. Closing his eyes, he tips his head back against the wall and takes deep breaths. The set of Clarke’s shoulder square against his own is calming in its own way.

After a little while, Clarke shifts. The disappointment that rushes through him is forceful, but for naught—soon her familiar warmth is beside him once more. The rasp of turning pages reaches his ears.

Then she begins to read.

Her voice washes over him, a little raspy and unfairly sweet in the still of the morning. He basks in the way it seeps into his body, brings his mind to such an easy peace. She’s chosen a poem.

 _”The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift,_  
_The road is forlorn all day,_  
_Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift,_  
_And the hoof-prints vanish away._  
_The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee,_  
_Expend their bloom in vain._  
_Come over the hills and far with me,_  
_And be my love in the rain. ”_

“Frost,” Bellamy murmurs after. “Wells’ favorite.”

“Yeah, he was.” Clarke sighs wistfully and lays her head on his shoulder, and there they stay.

* * *

She’s reluctant to leave him later. “I can see if someone else will take Zach to—”

“Clarke, no.” Bellamy grasps her elbow, plucking the phone from her hands before she can start making calls to rearrange her plans. “That’s not necessary at all. Go get your son. Take him to get that new winter jacket before the storm hits.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ll be fine.” He smiles. “How can I go wrong with all these books?”

She doesn’t look convinced, but finally she holds out the shop keys. “Alright. Give these to Marcus when he comes in, please.” He nods and slips them into his pocket. But she still doesn’t move.

Gently, he takes her shoulders and turns her towards the door. “Go, Clarke. I promise, I’ll see you tonight. Storytime, right?”

“Right. And we’ll stop by the bakery before dinner. I want to check if Monty needs any help preparing for the storm.”

“Of course you do.” He smiles. “I’ll meet you there at five. Sound good?”

“Yeah.” Clarke makes it to the door before turning around, uncertain. “Listen, just—you know you can call me, if you need anything. Right?”

“I know, Clarke.”

“Okay. See you at five.”

He stares at the door long after she’s gone, only snapping out of it when a car horn sounds on the street. Shaking his head, he locks up while he uses the bathroom and freshens up, then comes back downstairs and spends the rest of the morning reading Whitman and Frost in between cleaning off the empty shelving space in the corner, an idea forming slowly in the corner of his mind.

When Kane returns in the afternoon looking decidedly happy about his ice skating non-date, Bellamy leaves the keys with him and goes for a walk. Wandering a little, he turns off the main street onto a narrower side road that probably wouldn’t fit even the smallest of cars. A block further, he finds an old little brick store with a blue door. Graffiti adorns the sides of the building, lending to the rebellious vibe. The sign reads CLOSED, but Bellamy stops anyways to peer through the single huge window. Records are lined side by side along each wall, along with three stacks running parallel in the middle of the store. All are stuffed to the brim with vinyls, encased carefully in plastic overtop the illustrated covers.

“You coming in or you just wanna stare at them?”

Bellamy whirls around to find Murphy locking his bike to a pole. In his hand, he jiggles a keyring.

“This is your place?”

“Yup.” Murphy strides by him and unlocks the door, not waiting to see if Bellamy will follow. He does, of course, because now he’s even more curious. Flipping on the lights, Murphy sets his mp3 player on a dock. Music blares through the speakers high on the walls as he begins the practiced motion of counting out the register for the day. With the door closed, any outside noise is almost extinguished in here. Nothing but them and the melodies in a little bubble. No wonder Murphy likes it here.

“Heard you knew Wells’ old man.” Murphy’s not looking at him, but his interest is evident.

“I did.”

“He was kind of an asshole.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy grins fondly. “He was.”

Murphy finishes stacking a few records and walks over. “He had alright taste in music. I'll give him that.”

“Yeah? Any favorites?”

He grunts and points to a section in the corner, to the right of the window. “Have fun.”

Bellamy loses himself in the R&B and jazz, smiling to himself at the memories they bring back. Jaha playing some funky beat before every patrol. Blasting saxophones in his ear during warm-ups. Going on and on about how the younger generation needed to learn to appreciate “the ones who paved the way.”

Sometime later, the door opens and Emori walks in, already talking. “John I don’t care what you say, flyers are—oh.” She breaks into a smile. “Hello, Bellamy. I see you found the best-kept secret in town already.”

“I got lucky.” He holds up a vinyl to Murphy. “Got any more by these guys?”

Murphy squints at the cover. “Possibly.” As he disappears into the back, Emori saunters over.

“Good taste, Sergeant. So how’re you liking Arkadia?”

“Can’t complain,” he says honestly. “Now I see why Wells loved it so much.”

She smiles. “Yeah, he really did. It was good of you to stay, even after—well. You know. I can’t imagine it was an easy choice.”

“It was and it wasn’t. But Clarke made a pretty convincing case.”

“I’ll bet,” she says slyly, and he shoots her a look before going back to flipping through records. “You know,” Emori continues, “there’s this pretty great local band that’s playing at The Ark tomorrow. The Lost Boys. I think you’d enjoy them.” She picks at a fingernail, casually adding, “Clarke will be there.”

Bellamy hums noncommittally. “They put on a good show?”

“Always. You won’t regret it.”

“Regret what?” Murphy reappears from the back, a stack of records in his hands. Bellamy hurries over to help him set them on the counter.

“Coming to the gig tomorrow,” Emori rests her chin on her hands. “I was just telling our visitor about the best band in town.”

Murphy rolls his eyes, but it’s negated by the way his mouth curves up all the same. Bellamy quickly puts two and two together.

“It’s your band?” He asks.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Sorry,” Bellamy grins. “That’s awesome, though. Count me in.”

Emori gives a little fist pump, then pokes Murphy until he smiles and shakes his head. “I’m going to get some awesome shots during the set,” she promises. To Bellamy she says, “I’m a photographer. Mostly freelancing for a few magazines. The occasional newspaper.”

“Nice. You travel a lot?”

“Sometimes. Honestly I used to bounce around so much when I was younger, it’s kind of nice to stay in one spot now. But yeah, if the story’s worth it, I’ll go.” As Murphy heads to the other side of the store, she says, “That’s how I met this one. I was covering a band a couple states over and he was playing moodily at the bar I happened to choose that night. This was during his tragic solo run,” she adds in a mock whisper.

Bellamy grins. “Love at first sight?”

“If love is stealing all your equipment, then sure,” Murphy drawls.

“Hey, I returned all of that, so technically, it was just borrowing,” Emori replies with an eyeroll. “Besides, you were never going to get to the front of the line anyways. He wanted an autograph during the meet and greet the next day,” she explains to an amused Bellamy. “And I wanted my story. I had a press pass, but ‘band members only’ were allowed past a certain point. So I grabbed his guitar, rolled up my sleeves to show off my tattoos, and bam, I was in.”

“Pretty smooth." 

“Hell yeah. I got the signatures, got my story, _and_ his number.” She bumps Murphy’s hip affectionately, grinning at Bellamy. “He couldn’t say no to me after that.”

“Yet she says no to me all the time,” Murphy says, but there’s no bite, just a lightness completely at odds with his usual demeanor.

Emori’s grin widens. “That’s true.”

* * *

It’s still 20 minutes before five when Bellamy rounds the corner to the bakery, but Clarke’s standing right outside already. He smiles.

“You’re early, princess.”

“So are you,” she replies with a grin. “How was the rest of your day?”

“Pretty good. Did some sight-seeing. Did you and Zach shop until you dropped?”

Clarke laughs. “Yeah, he dropped right into Aunt Raven’s bed after all that walking around. But we got his snow gear! Again. I swear, the kid grows so fast we buy a new set every season.”

“My nephew is the same. It’s amazing. And scary.”

“Definitely. “ Clarke’s grin turns sly. “So. I heard Emori already recruited you to to come to the concert tomorrow.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows rise. “News travels fast,” he remarks. She has the grace to be sheepish, but only shrugs, waiting, until he says, “It sounded like fun. You don’t mind, right?”

“Mind?” Clarke looks at him like he’s nuts. “I was going to drag you along myself.”

He grins, delighted. “Yeah?”

She nods and bites her lip, suddenly shy. Her eyes drift over to the bag in his hand. “Find something good in Murphy’s shop?” Her change of subject is adorably bad, but he slides the record out anyways. Clarke steps closer, tucking her hair behind her ear as she leans down to read the cover. _”Grease_?” She grins quizzically. “Wouldn’t have guessed that was your style.”

“Yeah, it’s for my mom. She loves this movie. She'd play song after song on repeat, whether she was cooking or gardening or cleaning.” He smiles. “O and I got her a record player a few years ago. She's gone nuts with all the classics. Now I'm just trying to stock up her supply.”

“You picked a good spot to start. Murphy’s got some great stuff hidden there.”

“Yeah, I’m lucky I only came out with one thing. I could’ve filled several bags full of these to take back.”

The thought of leaving depresses Bellamy suddenly. Frowning, he forces himself to ignore it and looks past her into the coffeeshop.

“So is it just Monty here? Or does he have help?”

Clarke gives him a long glance, like she’s wondering what she just missed, before letting him off the hook. “He oversees most of the day-to-day stuff. He works a few shifts each week, and Harper—the girl you met at the diner?—she, Fox and Jasper help out the rest of the time. They make it work.”

The door jingles as they step inside. The shop is empty and quiet, save for the soft radio that floats in from the back. Then Monty’s dark head pops out, teeth flashing in a smile.

“Hey guys! What brings you around?”

“I just wanted to see if you’d need any help before this storm comes in.” Clarke nudges Bellamy teasingly. “And I think I got Bell addicted to the the cherry pie already.”

He’s not sure what fills him with more joy—the fact that she clearly noticed such a detail about him, or the sound of his nickname coming from her mouth with such ease. Clarke blushes under his stare, glancing away quickly as Monty emerges fully from the back, wiping his hands on a napkin. Bellamy tears his eyes away to greet him, though he can’t quite wipe the goofy smile from his face in time. If Monty notices, he’s good enough not to comment.

“Thanks for offering, Clarke. I think it’ll be alright,” he says. “Mostly I’ll just have to make sure I have the sidewalk shoveled and salted. Monroe said she’d come over to help once she digs herself out,” he grins. “And Jasper and I checked the roof the other day. Doesn’t look like there’s any danger of leaks.”

“You have salt, right? And your shovel isn’t locked in your car?” Between the way she says it, and the guilty expression that crosses Monty’s face, Bellamy gets the impression this might be a recurring snafu.

“Safe and sound in the back, right next to the salt,” he assures. To Bellamy he explains, “I’m not too worried. This place has been through a few storms already. It’s sturdy.”

“Yeah I’m starting to see a pattern in this town,” Bellamy replies with a smile.

Monty beams at Clarke. “See? Told you we’d have him charmed in no time.”

Oh, he’s charmed alright. But the town only has 50 percent to do with that.

The ringing of his phone startles all of them. Apologizing hastily, Bellamy pulls it from his pocket and is about to end the call when he sees the long number. A wave of excitement bursts through him. Excusing himself, he hurries outside the shop and answers with an elated grin.

“Took your ass long enough.”

“Hey, you’re not my boss anymore, you can’t talk to me like that,” Miller replies hoarsely.

“I can when you sound like shit. What the hell are they feeding you in Germany?”

“Anything that’ll fit in a straw.” Miller pauses to cough rather harshly, and Bellamy’s hand goes to his dog tags. “I’m fine,” his friend insists afterwards. “This is the better end of it.”

“I’ll believe that when I see you upright again. How’s the leg?”

“Infection’s gone. Along with three toes.”

“Fuck,” Bellamy breathes.

“The way I see it I’m one step closer to one hell of a Halloween costume.”

He chokes out a laugh, drawing a hand over his face. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Miss you too, man. Listen, I’m only allowed like five more minutes of talking before the scary nurse returns, so give me the Cliffnotes version of what you’ve been up to.”

“God. Where do I even begin?” Bellamy’s head thuds back against the wall. “So, you remember Jaha, right? Well, I found his son…”

* * *

Clarke looks up when he charges back inside the coffee shop. “Bellamy, what—”

“Where’d Monty go?”

Something about the look on his face must clue her in. Wordlessly, she points to the back. Bellamy calls his name again urgently. He steps out a second later, his apron covered in flour.

“You rang?”

 _”Miller_ is your boyfriend in the army?” Bellamy asks. Beside him, Clarke releases a small gasp.

Monty blanches. “I—we—how...?”

A huge grin splits Bellamy’s face. “Holy shit.” With a bark of laughter, he rounds the counter and grabs Monty in a hug. The other boy remains stock still for another few seconds, finally patting his shoulder with a shaky breath. Pulling back, Bellamy tells him, “Your boyfriend happened to be my Staff Sergeant, and a damn good one at that. He’s also one of my closest friends.”

Monty’s still recovering from his shock. “But you—he told you?”

“Not until two minutes ago.” He waves the phone at him. “He was pretty quiet, kept a lot close to the chest. Up until now I only knew he had a boyfriend—I didn’t know your name or where you lived. He was extremely drunk when it came up, and I just pretended not to remember the next day because I didn’t want him to wig out.”

The other boy nods, still looking stunned as Bellamy shoves the phone into his hand. But when he puts it to his ear, his frown deepens. "No one's there."

“What? He was just—” With a start, Bellamy remembers. “Fuck. Scary nurse.” He's already redialing as Monty trips over his words, apparently done being private.

“I—I didn’t know anything. His emails just stopped about a month ago, and it’s not like I was listed as a spouse or anything, obviously, so—”

The phone keeps ringing, but no one picks up. “Damnit,” Bellamy fumes and tries again. “Pick _up._ He glances at them. “He’ll pick up.”

Clarke looks between them with astonishment that’s slowly transforming to joy. Leaning over the counter, she grasps Monty’s hand tightly while they wait for an answer. Monty’s knuckles are white.

Finally they hear a click. “Miller?” Bellamy asks.

“I’m afraid Sergeant Miller cannot receive calls right now,” a clipped female voice answers. “You’ll want to try again—”

_Oh hell no._

“Listen,” Bellamy interrupts, straightening. “This is Sergeant First Class Bellamy Blake. Staff Sergeant Miller is my second-in-command and it’s a matter of urgency that I speak with him. Immediately. Now you can hand over the phone or I’ll call my CO and he’ll be in touch with your administrators to find out why you interfered with military business. Your choice.”

Monty’s mouth is wide open, while Clarke smiles with open admiration. Bellamy prays. _Come on, please please just let me—_

“Five minutes.”

Clarke throws her hands in the air with a silent exclamation, but Monty’s eyes are glued to the phone.

Miller’s scratchy voice filters through. “Damn you’re bossy, Sarge.”

“Miller,” Bellamy grins, “There’s someone who wants to talk to you.” Nudging Monty, he puts the phone in his hand and rounds to stand beside Clarke.

“Nate?” Monty whispers.

There’s a few agonizing seconds of silence, and then: “Hey, Monty.”

* * *

Peering through the window, Clarke does a little dance on the sidewalk. “He looks so happy.” Her eyes shine as she grabs his elbow, shaking his arm excitedly. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Just shut up and take the credit,” she grumbles, but her heart isn’t really in it. Bellamy glances over his shoulder into the bakery where Monty sits on a chair, head bowed. He hasn’t stopped smiling for five minutes.

“Of all the jin joints in all the world…” he murmurs.

Clarke laughs. “See, I told you you should stick around,” she pokes his side with a smile, and even he can’t deny that she might have a point.

* * *

After dinner, Bellamy lets Zach tug him upstairs in excitement, Clarke’s soft laughter floating up behind them. As the boy pounces on his bed, Bellamy takes in the room. From the Spiderman sheets to the numerous crayon drawings on the wall to the small bookcase already full to the brim, the room fits Zach to a tee. Pieces of his mom linger in the occasional art print scattered among the sketches; the careful way his sweater hangs to dry on the back of the closet door; the paper snowflakes that dangle from the ceiling.

“What story are we reading, Belly?” Zach’s eyes have gone wide with anticipation.

“Yeah, Bell,” Clarke echoes cheerfully from the doorway, “what story are we reading?”

He turns around to meet her sly grin, his heart giving a little ecstatic flip. In the back of his mind he’s starting to wonder if she knows exactly what effect she’s having on him.

“You got markers?” He asks instead. She nods, passing by him to sit next to Zach, collecting a pad of paper and some colorful markers off his little table. Bellamy takes a seat on the floor, resting his elbows on the mattress. “Alright, bud. What do you know about Athens?”

Zach straightens. “It’s in Greece,” he declares proudly, and Clarke grins at Bellamy over his head.

“That’s good!” Bellamy pats his knee. “What else?”

The boy scrunches his face in thought. “Is that the one that had a volcano?”

“That’s Pompeii,” Clarke reminds him. “Remember, from _Vacation Under the Volcano_?” She looks at Bellamy. “Magic Treehouse books. You know them?”

“Oh I know them, alright.”

“Thought you might.”

He grins. “Athens is the capital city of Greece,” he tells Zach. “Sits near the coast. It’s one of the oldest cities in the world.”

“How old?” Zach asks.

“Super old. Thousands of years.” Bellamy says. “So, the story goes that all the old towns were watched over by the Greek gods. And for this town, there were two gods that really wanted to be the guardian. Can you guess one?” Bellamy takes a marker and draws a feeble trident, but it gets the message across. “He had one of these.”

“Poseidon!!” Zach exclaims.

“You got it.”

“Who was the other?”

“His niece. She challenged him to a bet. Each of them would give the town a gift, and whichever gift the villagers picked would decide which god ruled that village.”

Zach leans in so far he nearly falls off the bed. “Did Poseidon give them water?”

Bellamy smiles, steadying him. “Smart man. He created a river that came down from the mountain by the town.”

“How?”

“He’s a god, that’s how.” Bellamy raises an eyebrow at Clarke’s snort. “Unless _you_ know the details, mom.”

“Gods are mysterious and powerful,” she says solemnly. He’s not fooled; he knows by now that her eyes can’t hide her laughter.

Zach tugs on Bellamy’s sweater. “What did his niece give them?”

“An olive tree.” Bellamy laughs at Zach’s confused frown. Clearly not the victorious answer he was hoping for. “Doesn’t sound like much at first, right?” Zach shakes his head. “Well, it turns out she was smarter than all of us put together. Olives could be used in food, but the whole tree itself was useful too. Wood from the thick trunk could be used to help build cabins. The smaller branches could be used for fires to keep warm in the winter.” He taps Zach’s nose. “They weren’t so lucky to have a great house like you do.”

“Plus,” Clarke chimes in, “they could use the juice from the olives for cooking. Like we do now, right bud?”

Zach’s mouth opens and closes. Bellamy can practically see the gears turning in his head. “So they picked her gift, right?” The boy asks.

“They wanted to. But they didn’t want to anger Poseidon either. Remember how I said they lived on the coast? Poseidon was God of the Sea. He could make life hard for them.”

“Would he really do that?” Zach looks so troubled that Bellamy reaches forward to ruffle his hair.

“Poseidon realized how clever his niece was. He was so impressed that he declared her the winner of the bet,” he explains. “So the villagers named their town after her. Her name was Athena.”

As Zach claps his hands, Clarke reaches for a picture book from his bookshelf, opening it up to point to a map. “See, here’s Greece, and Athens is right here.”

Bellamy nudges the paper towards Zach. “What do you think the town looked like back then, huh?”

Zach’s brow creases in a perfect mirror of his mother before he picks up a marker and starts to draw furiously. Bellamy chuckles, looking up at Clarke. Beaming, she blows him a kiss. He stares. Her cheeks turn crimson just seconds later.

“Hey Zach, you want some hot chocolate?” She barely waits for his answer before springing off the bed. She’s out the door before Bellamy can even close his mouth. Still smiling a bit too hard, he shifts closer to Zach’s bookshelf, a hand brushing along the tops of each book until he comes to a familiar title: _A Wrinkle In Time._

“Did you read this one yet?” He asks Zach.

As soon as he sees the boy’s face fall, he knows. “It was a gift,” Zach says quietly, and Bellamy wants to disappear right into the floorboards. Cursing internally, he puts the book back in its spot, then sits on the bed next to Zach, tentatively squeezing his shoulder.

“A gift from your Uncle Wells?”

“Yeah.” Zach reaches for the blue marker, coloring in the water for the river in his picture. “We were halfway through. I want to finish it, but mom isn’t ready.”

A quiet ache takes hold of Bellamy’s heart. “She will be one day. She’s strong. Just like you.”

Zach nods. “She’s smiling a lot this week. She likes it when you’re here.” Before Bellamy can even respond to the joy that sentence brings, Zach pushes the paper aside and wraps his little arms around Bellamy’s waist. “I like it when you’re here too,” he says, voice muffled.

Bellamy can’t find his voice for a few minutes, so he just curls an arm around the boy’s shoulders, whispers _me too_ into the silent room and marvels at the absolute trust radiating from the boy currently hugging his waist.

By the time Clarke’s slippered feet sound on the stairs, Zach is fast asleep against him. She looks dangerously close to dropping one of her two mugs when she catches sight of them, her bottom lip trembling a little. Bellamy tries to apologize only to have her hush him quickly. Setting the mugs aside, she gently leans her son back against the pillows, where he immediately curls up. Bellamy hands an extra blanket to Clarke, then grabs both mugs and steps outside while she tucks in her son.

She still looks a little overcome when she joins him in the hall. He can’t really meet her eyes right away, so he just heads for the stairs, feeling her follow close behind. After a few large gulps of hot chocolate that burn his mouth, he decides to just rinse his cup and head out, but Clarke stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Bellamy,” she says softly, “it was a great story. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, rather lamely, but she smiles anyways and takes a step closer.

“Listen, are you sure you don’t want to sleep here on the couch?”

He blinks, taken aback. “I—uh, what?”

“The couch,” Clarke repeats, squeezing his hand gently. “Would it help you to sleep here? Instead of—” She doesn’t finish, but then he remembers how she found him this morning. Oh. No wonder.

“It’s alright. Really.” Bellamy tries to pry his hand from hers. “I’m okay. I know it doesn’t look like it, but—”

“No, that’s not it at all,” she interrupts quickly. Her grip becomes more forceful, like she needs the touch to convince him. “I just— I know what you’re going through. I mean, not exactly, but I—” She pauses, searching for words, then: “I dream, too.” She shrugs. “Sometimes it’s easier to stay awake.”

Bellamy looks at her, the fierce lift of her chin and the compassion in her eyes, and god does every bone in his body want to give in, but.

“I appreciate it,” he says, putting his other hand atop hers. “I really do, Clarke. It’s— it’s amazing of you to offer. But I think I should stay with the books for now.”

Her lips purse to the side, clearly displeased, and he’s _thisclose_ to kissing the frown off her face when she finally nods.

“One condition.” Her fingers tighten around his. “You promise to call, if you need anything. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Good.” A little reluctantly, their fingers unwind. At the door, Clarke clears her throat hesitantly. “Bellamy?” He turns around. “I was thinking, tomorrow, before the concert, could we— would you mind if we maybe—”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “I think it’s time we went to Wells’ house.”

She smiles back, relieved. “Okay, so I’ll see you in the morning?”

“See you in the morning, Clarke.”


	7. Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More books, more memories, and Christmas decorations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was by far the toughest chapter to write, and I'm sorry I took an eternity to do it. Hopefully I haven't lost you! But the comments on the last chapter were such amazing motivation, so thank you thank you for all the feedback so far <3 Hope you enjoy this chapter.

 

Wells’ house is not what Bellamy expects. It’s old, like most of the town, but that’s where the similarities end. Not exactly the inviting home he expected to find. For someone so modest, the structure attracts quite some attention.

It's an imposing sight with its high arched windows and significant lack of color. Even the shutters are so dark it’s impossible to tell if they were meant to be blue or black. A few vines are starting to crawl up the left wall, close to the gray porch. The house sits at the edge of the block, easily standing out from the other considerably warmer tones on the street.

“It was his dad’s.” Clarke’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Wells was renting it from him when he left. He was going to buy it eventually, had plans to make some changes… but then Thelonious left it to him in his will. After that he just wanted to keep it the way it was, in his memory.”

“I’m sure he did a great job,” Bellamy replies just as quietly. Clarke nods, the faintest tremble in her jaw as she stares at the house. Reaching over, he grasps her hand. She looks up at him. “You sure you want to do this now?” He asks gently. “We don’t have to—”

“No.” Clarke shakes her head forcefully. “I have to do this. I need to.” Her fingers curl around his. “Together, right?”

“Together,” he agrees.

They stand on the porch while she retrieves the key from her bag with slightly shaking hands. Bellamy finds himself holding his breath for no reason as the lock clicks, and then Clarke’s pushing the door open, looking over her shoulder hesitantly. Nodding, he takes her hand again and follows her inside.

It’s strange at first, being in the house without Wells there to give him the “grand tour” like he always boasted of doing in his letters. There’s no light. The air’s almost stale. A layer of dust covers the table that sits by the entrance. The hallway is dark; more than one shadow lingers. A shoe rack is propped against the wall opposite, half-full of sneakers and dress shoes that won’t be worn again.

Clarke is silent beside him, looking like she’s either going to throw the shoes or simply run back out. Bellamy swallows, fingers already itching for the doorknob.

But just as the darkness threatens to swallow them, Clarke reaches out and flips a switch, flooding the hall with light.

“You deserve a tour,” she declares. Her voice is tad too bright and an octave higher than normal, but Bellamy grins back all the same.

“Took you long enough to offer, princess.”

She sticks out her tongue and strides forward, determination squaring her shoulders. “Kitchen’s down that way,” she points. “Living room and dining room to your left. The office is in the back, I’ll show you that later. But first, we need to get some windows open.”

Clearly their minds are on similar tracks. Bellamy reaches for the blinds in the living room, checking for her nod before yanking on the string. Sunlight streams in through the window, and suddenly the place doesn’t feel so claustrophobic or unwelcoming. He does the same to the others, hearing Clarke unlatching the kitchen windows.

After pushing open the living room windows, for once grateful for the winter chill that seeps in, he stands in the middle of the space. The maroon couch forms an L shape and takes up the length of one wall, facing the TV. A square black coffee table sits in between, still littered with coasters and old newspapers.

But Bellamy’s more captivated by the floating shelves that seem to take up every inch of spare wall space, most of which are loaded with books. Some are biographies, memoirs, non-fiction accounts; even a few old textbooks. He catches a picture book wedged on one or two shelves—likely for Zach’s visits.

Only one shelf is free of books. Instead, it holds two framed photos.

One, of a younger Wells and Thelonious, both grinning identically into the camera. In the other, Wells hugs Clarke and Raven, an arm around them each, but his eyes were on Raven when the flash went off. Even in the picture, the affection between them is apparent.

“Like I said,” Clarke walks in, “I haven’t really been over much.”

Bellamy shrugs. “It’s kind of— nice, as weird as that is,” he admits. “It’d have been worse to come in and see it all covered, you know? This way… I can almost imagine how it would’ve been.”

“Yeah.” She takes a deep breath, then unzips her jacket and removes her scarf, laying them both over a chair in the dining room. “So,” she says again in that too-bright voice, “the tour.”

Smiling, he puts his coat over hers and sweeps an arm out for her to lead the way. She takes him through the dining room into the kitchen, absently straightening placemats or handtowels while she talks. “I love this kitchen. Wells and I spent so many afternoons in here while he tried new recipes. He even got one of those high baby chairs, like the restaurants have, so Zach could sit with us instead of being stuck in the crib.”

“That’s a great idea. He cooked a lot?”

“So much. His dad used to cook all the time when we were little. Wells kept saying he missed the smell of all that good food, so he learned how to make it himself.” Clarke wrinkles her nose. “Shit. That reminds me, I don’t know if the fridge has been cleaned out. Just give me a minute—”

“I’ll help,” he insists.

She looks mildly horrified. “What? No! I can’t let you—

He nearly laughs. “Clarke. It’s just old food. You think I haven’t seen worse? Besides, you know Wells would be pissed if you came over _twice_ and still didn’t clean his fridge.”

That prompts a fond grin, even if her eyes are glassy. “Fine,” she relents with a sigh. They each grab a trash bag from under the sink. Clarke leans up and pinches his nose, her other hand on the fridge door. “Last chance to back out.”

He laughs and bats her hand away. The fridge isn’t as bad as he expects, aside from a foul carton of milk and a questionable fruit - or maybe it’s a vegetable? They shove everything into their bags hastily, not making much conversation until the fridge is empty.

“Did Thelonious cook a lot, with the unit?” Clarke asks, tying down her bag.

“Sometimes. Most of our meals came in a bag, on-the-go type of thing,” he explains. “But some nights, yeah, he got creative. It wasn’t always good,” he allows, and she grins. “It lifted the mood, though. I think that’s why he used to do it, more than anything.”

“That sounds like him,” she says softly. After a minute of staring too hard at the floor, she says, “I resented him, sometimes. For always leaving.” She peeks up, and when she finds no judgment in his gaze, she continues. “I watched Wells try to deal with it, you know? In the beginning, every time his dad was back, the whole town would know. He’d make sure of it. And then… he always left. I know he tried to explain it, he felt like he _had_ to, like it was his calling, or something.”

She leans against the counter. “And I _am_ glad that he knew you. Looked after you. But— it just wasn’t the same for Wells after that.”

Bellamy nods. “I get it. In order to do what he thought was his duty, he ended up missing out on his own kid. There’s no excuse for that.”

“I don’t think there can be. It’s just how he was. And I know he loved you guys. He always spoke so proudly of his unit, how honored he was to be out there.”

It’s hard to speak past the sudden lump in his throat. Finally he manages, “I’m sorry he wasn’t here more.”

Clarke releases a long breath, then takes his elbow with a smile. “Come on. Wells would faint if he knew you were standing here holding trash instead of all those books.”

* * *

After tossing the bags and cleaning up, Clarke brings him to the office at the back of the house. Bellamy stands in the doorway and gapes for a full minute before she gently shuts his jaw and pulls him inside.

Bookshelves line three of the four walls. They’re piled to the brim. Sturdy, solid oak, and stacks and stacks of books. It’s magnificent; a dream come to life. An armchair sits by the door, a small ottoman beside it. The desk in the middle of the room looks far too neat. Bellamy has a suspicion it may have been Jaha’s decorative choice, but not something Wells used very much. He can’t exactly blame him. His eyes keep returning to the books, the sheer volume of them in all shapes and sizes and conditions. A collector, indeed.

“This is like his own library,” he breathes, turning in a circle.

“Jealous?” Clarke teases.

“Hell yeah.”

Her laugh is a balm to his heart. “Well, go on.” She sweeps out an arm. “I know you want to.”

Bellamy grins and immediately goes to one of the shelves, his fingers brushing along multiple worn spines. Occasionally he pauses to pull a book out a little further, gives it a curious onceover, then pushes it back into its spot. Wells already has a running commentary in his head for some of the titles, ones that make him grin wryly as he remembers their conversations. He’s halfway through the shelf before he realizes Clarke is just watching him, leaning against the desk with a soft smile curling her lips.

Sheepish, he rubs his neck. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize.” She comes over and plops down cross-legged on the floor beside him. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He pulls a couple of books from the shelf, then sits in front of her. “This one,” he holds up the _The Last Werewolf,_ “I read during my third deployment. We were in Syria, transporting supplies between towns. Stayed up a few nights in a row just to finish. I was _so_ pissed when I found out there was a sequel.”

Clarke laughs. “I thought that was a good thing? More to read?”

“Depends. Sometimes I just want a solid story, you know? Beginning, middle and end. Not a middle that lasts like six books. If you’re not _Harry Potter,_ don’t do it.”

She snorts loudly in the middle of her laughter, causing him to laugh in surprise too. “So did you ever get to the sequel?”

“Eventually. It was fine, but just not the same,” Bellamy admits. “I think he even wrote a third but by that point I knew I wasn’t going to keep going.” He grins. “I kinda prefer to think the first book exists on its own. My biggest worry with the sequel was that it’d ruin the first one for me.”

“Sounds like you’ve been burned before,” she comments with a raised brow.

“I learned,” he says, then leans against the shelf and looks at her. “What about you? What do you like to read?”

Clarke’s mouth twists to the side as she considers the shelves around them. Then she stands and walks behind the desk, rising to her tiptoes to pull a book from high up before returning to sit beside him. _”The Night Circus._ One of the few books I got to before Wells,” she says a bit triumphantly, and Bellamy chuckles. “I love it,” she sighs, hugging it to her chest. “I’ve got my own special copy sitting in my room, way high up where no one else can get to it.”

“Nice,” he says, even as he wonders if there might be an author signing nearby where he can surprise her— what is he doing? Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he remarks, “What’d Wells think of it?”

“Oh he liked it. It was so creative, there was no way he wouldn’t. He was just jealous I got there first.” When he laughs, Clarke grins. “Seriously. He prided himself on being the keeper of some pretty serious fantasy stuff.” She shuffles back a few paces on the carpet, crooking a finger at him to follow. “See what I mean? This section was extra-special.”

“Wow. I can tell.” His eyes drift over the titles, stopping at a particularly well-kept box set. “Not a page out of place,” he grins and holds up the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy.

“Oh my god,” Clarke groans and scoots closer until their knees touch. “He read all three when we were in middle school. No—wait,” she corrects herself, wrinkling her brow. “He read the first one in eighth grade, finished the other two our freshman year of high school.” She smiles, a finger trailing over the titles. “Everywhere we went for _months,_ all I heard was hobbits and Gandalf and elves and Samwise Gimli—”

“Gamgee, Gimli was the dwarf,” Bellamy corrects automatically, then scrunches his face when she looks up in pure delight.

“I knew it!” Clarke crows, shaking his shoulder. “You read them _all_ in middle school, didn’t you.”

“Only the first two,” he admits.

She laughs and cuts her eyes at him slyly. “I bet you knew Elvish and everything.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’ll bet Octavia knows,” Clarke sings smugly, and for a moment he just looks at her, because the thought of her wanting to know O, them becoming _friends_ — well, the idea fills him with unbearable warmth. Clarke mistakes his look for guilt, breaking into another round of giggles and poking him until he pokes her back, eliciting a squeal that finally makes him join in her laughter.

“Alright, alright,” he allows, “I may have known a word or two. Languages were always so cool to me; the deeper I got the more I wanted to know. And this one had so many interesting roots.”

She props her chin on her hand. “Did you take any classes in college?”

“Two semesters of Spanish, just because I really enjoyed it. There was also a class on the romance languages that covered the basics of French and Italian, which was pretty cool. If I hadn’t dropped out I might have taken more.”

“I took a romance language class too,” Clarke says, “but it turns out I’m more of a sucker for people speaking the language than actually wanting to learn it.”

“Oh really?” Bellamy wiggles his eyebrows, laughing when she smacks his shoulder and stands, her face flushed. He watches her cross to the other side of the room and reach for a couple more books. Smiling, he pockets that little nugget of information and turns back to his own rapidly piling stack.

The morning goes by pretty quickly after that. Clarke gets him to talk about almost each book she holds up, to the point that he’s wondering if maybe even _she_ read some of his letters. It’s a little too good to be guesswork; at the same time, he’s flattered that she even knows as much as she does, and that she apparently wants to learn more. It’s one hundred thousand percent mutual. For every question she asks him, he has at least three for her.

“Okay you _have_ to have read this one.”

Bellamy looks up to find Clarke holding _The Golem and the Jinni_ with an arched eyebrow. He chuckles and traces a finger over the raised lettering. “Yeah. One of my army buddies suggested it to me. Said I’d eat up all the ‘boring old historical shit’.”

Clarke giggles. “Let me guess. You did.”

“Come on, look at the title! It’s begging to be read.” Reaching over, he grabs another title. “You probably had to read this one in school, right?”

She squints at _The Things They Carried,_ then brightens. “Oh yeah, I remember that one! I wrote a couple essays on it. I was fascinated by how it was set up, the way it was written and presented, you know?” Her voice takes on a thoughtful tone as she studies him. “Do you like it?”

“I—yeah. I do.”

“You hesitated.”

Bellamy grins. “Yeah. It’s just weird, I remember finding a copy in an abandoned house during one of my tours. Hadn’t read it in years, but for some reason I kept it with me. It was just… different, reading it after all that time. While I was in the middle of it. You know?”

“I can’t imagine the things you’ve seen,” Clarke says softly. Unlike almost everyone else, she doesn’t sound pitying or sympathetic—just intrigued, and willing to listen.

“I do have a lot of stories,” he says after a moment. “Not short by any means.”

She smiles. “Those are the best ones.”

Soon they find themselves sitting in the middle of several piles of books, a few open to specific pages and lines that Bellamy just couldn’t resist pointing out in the midst of another tale, because books have always been a part of his life no matter what. Always there for him to retreat to, even if just for a little while. He tells her about the worn copy of _Stardust_ he kept under his bunk during boot camp—a gift from his sister before he joined. It had been her favorite book growing up, and she'd insisted he take her only copy just so he'd be sure to bring it back. He'd read passages over and over after lights out just to feel like she was there with him.

Soon his stories shift to the guys in his unit, some of whom he’s known since training camp. The ones who came back with him, and the ones who didn’t. Others who are out there still.

Clarke is an avid listener, her blue eyes intensely focused on him as he speaks. It’s almost unnerving at first; he can’t remember saying this much to anyone, not out loud, at least. But she’s steel covered in softness, taking in his stories until he runs out of words. Then it’s her turn.

Turns out she’s got a book or two stashed under her own pillow, too. Both Wells’ favorites, that she used to tease him about endlessly. The same ones that unwittingly brought her to tears after he was gone. But in the end she couldn’t bring herself to give them away, so now they sit on her shelf until Zach will be old enough to read them himself. She tells him how Wells would come over with his arms full of new books almost every day when Zach was little. How they’d sit and read to him even though he probably didn’t understand a word of it, how it soothed him to sleep better than any music or mobile could.

When she runs out of breath, the silence stretches and fills the room, settling over them like a warm blanket. Bellamy slouches against the desk, stretching his legs out more comfortably as he pages through a historical fiction novel, pausing to read Wells’ handwritten notes in the margin. Clarke’s bowed over her own book, blonde hair spilling over her shoulder as she rests her chin on her hand. A fond smile plays on her face.

“Does Kane really think he can fit all this in that little corner of the bookstore?” Bellamy asks after a while. Clarke glances up, closing her book slowly.

“What makes you say that?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “That’s what it’s for, right? That empty section? He wants to bring some of these over?”

After a moment, Clarke says, “It was actually my idea.” She swallows. “I know there isn’t enough room. But I can’t stand the thought of these books just… _sitting_ here, gathering dust, you know? They were so loved before.” Her voice has dipped low. “I hate that we’d have to move them, but I just think they deserve to be cherished again. Even if it’s not by me or Wells.” Her shoulders hunch, her whole body curling protectively around herself as she talks, and Bellamy’s next to her in seconds, a tentative hand on her back. She presses her face into his shirt without hesitation, drawing in a harsh, shaky breath as she tries to hold herself in check.

“It’s alright. I get it,” he murmurs, tucking her head beneath his chin. “Wells would agree with you.”

Clarke nods against his chest but doesn’t make another sound for several minutes. He lets himself stroke her hair lightly, squeezes her shoulder and is reassured when she squeezes his hand back.

Eventually she says what he’s already figured out. “Wells left the house to me.” Pulling back a little, she sniffs and smiles sadly. “Idiot.”

He catches a tear with his thumb. “Genius.”

Clarke smiles.

* * *

After they’ve set aside some books to bring to the bookstore, they begin to shelve the rest back. All the while, an idea churns in Bellamy’s head, and eventually he decides he has to at least try.

“Did you think about maybe doing something with the house, so you can keep everything here instead of try to move it all?” He asks. Clarke pauses and turns to him questioningly. “Like, if you knocked down the wall there,” he points to the entrance, “and extended the shelving that way you’d have more room. And maybe even rearranging the upstairs would—” He stops at the look on her face, assuming he’s gone too far. “You know what, never mind, I shouldn’t—”

“No, that’s not it at all.” Clarke smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s just… reconstruction costs so much. And the electrician said there would be a lot of rewiring to do, especially if we try to bypass the kitchen, and then the upstairs is a whole different monster in itself. Plus I’d want to repaint everything, make it more welcoming, you know? And—” She twists her fingers in front of her and shrugs ruefully. “It’s just a lot of money that I don’t have right now.”

“So you had thought of it,” Bellamy says carefully, and she nods.

“Absolutely. It’s just hard to make it a reality right now.”

He clasps her hand briefly. “I understand. Forget I mentioned it.”

Surprising him, she smiles for real. “I won't.”

As they continue to re-shelve books, he notices another title and reaches for it. As he’s flipping through the first few pages, Clarke tilts her head to see the cover and smiles to herself, somewhat nostalgic and secretive all at once.

“What?” He can’t help asking.

“That was Lexa’s favorite.” Hair falls over her face as she bends down to retrieve a few more books. Her voice is neutral enough, but he’s not fooled. “What'd you think of it?”

“It’s alright,” he says casually, grinning when she elbows him. Putting the book away, he says, “How did you two meet?”

“In college. International Affairs,” Clarke says airily, breaking into a grin when he chuckles. “I took it as an elective, just for fun—”

“Of course,” he deadpans, and she shoots him a look.

“For _fun,”_ she repeats, nudging him. “Lexa was majoring in poli-sci. She was my debate partner, so we got to know each other pretty well. Then she ended up modeling for one of my art classes, and afterward she asked me out. Obviously she was gorgeous,” Clarke continues absently. “Add that to her intelligence, her cleverness, and I was hooked.”

Bellamy hums noncommittally, hoping his flare of jealousy goes unnoticed. It's irrational and immature, he's well aware, but… well, whatever. He doesn't realize he's clearly missed something until the hard poke to his arm makes him glance up in surprise.

Clarke appears amused, if a little curious. “I asked if you had any old college sweethearts.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat. “I— uh, I guess I wasn’t really that guy.” Clarke makes a disbelieving noise in her throat, and he grins. “That’s not what I mean. I just, wasn’t ready to commit. At all. So I… uh—”

“Played the field,” she finishes. He rolls his eyes but nods.

“It was better that way. Easier to make the decision to enroll. Having to leave O and mom was hard enough.” He stares at the book in his hand without really seeing it until Clarke squeezes his forearm in understanding.

“Wells didn’t like Lexa very much.” She remarks eventually. “Everyone thought he was jealous. But that wasn't it at all. He— he was like my brother, you know? He was just looking out for me.”

“Was there a reason he didn’t like her?”

A corner of her mouth lifts. “More than one. But he always said as long as I was happy, he would find a way to deal with it. And he did.” She shrugs. “Anyways, it took its course, so…”

Bellamy’s not sure if he should say sorry, or whether she even needs to hear it, so he just keeps his mouth shut. It might come out a tad insincere anyways, seeing as he’s increasingly glad Clarke is single. Which, is entirely another issue in itself.

“We can still be around each other, when called for," she finishes after a while. “That’s the best I could hope for.”

“Definitely. Not a lot of people can say that,” he says, and they leave it there.

* * *

“Do you mind if I turn on the TV for a little bit?” Clarke asks when they’re back in the living room. They’ve brought a few books with them, stacked neatly by the door save for one poetry anthology in Bellamy’s hand. “The house is too quiet. I need noise.”

Bellamy grins and hands her the remote. She drops onto the couch, curling her legs under her with a contented sigh. When he remains standing, she pats the spot next to her with an expectant look. Ignoring how his heart leaps a mile, he sits, a bit stiffly at first, then slouching a little and stretching his legs out.

She’s flipping through channels and lands on a news report about the mayoral race, sound bites from the Wallaces playing. Clarke wrinkles her nose in irritation, and even Bellamy feels his eyebrows draw together as he frowns. Then Lexa’s face pops on-screen as she calmly answers a reporter’s question. After a quiet fifteen seconds, Clarke switches the channel again.

This time the silence is different. “You’re right,” Bellamy finally says, giving in. “She’s a good public speaker.”

“She always was.” Clarke’s voice has a slight edge; her mind is clearly elsewhere. When he taps her knee, she blinks and turns to him with a sigh. “Lexa’s whole family was in politics. She grew up surrounded by it. Was groomed for it, if you ask me.”

“Doesn’t sound very fun.”

She shakes her head. “I know. Her cousin was actually… she was going to be the next big thing. Everyone thought so. But she died young.” Clarke shrugs. “Lexa was always trying to fill her shoes after that. She still really thought she could be effective, though. I believed it, too.” She smiles slightly. “I didn’t know much about politics. Still don’t, aside from what Marcus tells me or what’s in the paper. If I’d known about the media, though...”

When she doesn’t speak for a full minute, Bellamy says softly, “You really don’t have to keep going."

“It's fine. I don't mind.” She twists her fingers together in her lap, and he goes back to thumbing through a few pages of poetry until her voice breaks the quiet, lower than usual. “I think I hated the buzz words the most. Misogynist; outsider; widower. How can one person only be one thing?”

Bellamy’s mouth tightens. Yeah, he knows that feeling. _Amputee. Hero. Sniper. Villain._ They love to make it sound so cut and dry, as if the world is black and white and not filled with countless shades of gray. Like something as complex as war can be cut down to a sound bite. For a few moments, he stares at the TV in irritation, not realizing at first that Clarke’s watching him. She offers a brief, hard smile.

“I figured you’d understand,” she says, and he nods. She continues, “Lexa was like the ultimate lightning rod, you know? A woman from a strong family of female politicians, who also happened to like other girls… My tagline was, ‘the girlfriend.’” Clarke’s mouth twists, bitterness crossing her face. “Until they found out about my dad.”

He can’t help it: he lets out a harsh sigh, dropping his face into his hand for a moment. Because he knows what comes next, all the inevitable questions and fake concern as they poke and prod for information about those that have been lost. He’s walked away from enough interviews because of it, and that’s only for the odd newspaper or magazine. He can’t imagine what a mess live media must have made.

“I’m sorry,” he says when he finally looks up. “That was shitty of them.”

“It was pretty shitty,” Clarke agrees, drawing her knees to her chest. “I thought I could handle it, that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. They’d focus on her and I’d just be a footnote. But it wasn’t like that at all.” She sighs. “They wanted me to keep reliving the accident, kept trying to bring up my dad like he was some kind of martyr. Which is bullshit. He was just a dad, _my_ dad, and now he’s gone.”

Clarke drags her sleeve across her eyes. Bellamy can’t bring himself to move, even though he wants to reach out to her. After a minute, she folds her arms over her knees and lifts her gaze. “It’s—it shaped me, it definitely has, but that’s not _all_ of who I am.”

“It doesn’t define you,” he murmurs, almost to himself, but she hears and smiles, defiant.

“Yeah. Exactly.” Her smile turns bitter. “Anyways, I did my best to deflect for a while, but it got to me. And one day Lexa was giving an interview on TV, and they asked her about it…” Her throat bobs. “She’d promised me she wouldn’t go there. Just say that was my story to share if I wanted to, and move on. But for some reason, that day she didn’t say that.”

She exhales sadly. “I was furious. Didn’t speak to her for days. And when I finally did talk, all we did was argue. After a while it just became clear we wanted different things. I never would’ve been happy living that life, and she'd never be able to walk away from her dream without resenting me for it.”

They’re both silent for a long time after that, Clarke heavy with the weight of her memories and Bellamy just marveling at the sheer strength that can exist within one person.

“Well. Shit.” It’s all he can manage. He’s kind of at a loss for words again.

Clarke snorts, tipping her head back against the wall. Bellamy shifts closer, their shoulders grazing.

“I don’t regret it,” she says eventually. “It was a big part of my life. And it taught me a lot, in hindsight. Plus, there’s that saying— when one door closes, another one opens. Totally true.”

“Yeah? What was yours?” He asks curiously.

She smiles radiantly. “Zach.”

He returns her smile. “Of course. I should have guessed.”

“It was a year after all that. I’d moved back here, just started teaching. I finally felt ready for something new, you know? We all went out one night, and, well, I met a guy I used to know from grade school and we started catching up…” she shrugs. “It wasn’t planned or expected, but Zach’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Bellamy squeezes her knee. “He’s an amazing kid, Clarke. And he’s going to be one hell of a young man too. That’s all thanks to you.”

“Thanks, Bellamy.” She grips his hand atop her knee for a few seconds, then sits up, eyes widening. “I almost forgot! Zach’s favorite book is still upstairs. I’d been waiting to come get it…”

Their hands still joined, Bellamy stands and pulls her to her feet. “Lead the way.”

* * *

Wells was insanely tidy. Bellamy can’t bring himself to go inside the bedroom, so he just hovers in the doorway, marveling at every neatly tucked corner and each carefully centered frame on the walls. Clarke grins over her shoulder.

“Yeah, he puts other neat freaks to shame.”

“I’ll say,” Bellamy murmurs.

Clarke doesn’t look like she wants to linger. Grabbing a book off the shelf and another from the dresser, she pads quickly to the door, only to zig zag to the left and pluck another smaller frame off his nightstand. Her throat bobs as she steps into the hall, closing the door behind her.

“Promised Raven I’d grab this,” she says quietly. Bellamy glances at the frame only for a second, catching the sight of two impossibly happy smiles before he tucks it more securely atop the books in Clarke’s hands.

“Then you’d better not break it.”

Her smile is weak at best, but it’s something. He hops down the stairs well ahead of her, turning to see her taking each step slowly, a hand curled rather tight around the railing. “I fell down these a few years ago,” she explains. “Face first.”

Bellamy winces. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. Ever since… I dunno, it sounds stupid to say, but— I can’t help relive it sometimes. I was really lucky, but still.”

“Trauma is trauma, Clarke,” he says. “It doesn’t matter when or where. Some things just stick with you.”

She pauses at the final step and looks at him for a long time. Normally he’d switch topics in a heartbeat with some sort of joke or comment, but Clarke deserves better than that, so he just meets her gaze silently.

Eventually, she just smiles. “That’s why we have friends who stick even closer.”

* * *

“Whoa, hey, can someone—”

“I got it!” Bellamy catches the string of lights before they hit the ground, looping them over the hook near his head. His ladder wobbles slightly, but then a steady gloved hand wraps around the bottom and Kane grins up at him.

“I got you.”

He grins back. “Thanks.”

“Nice catch, Bellamy!” Jasper waves from his own ladder, blue scarf waving in the wind, while Monty stands on the second porch step glancing between both of them worriedly.

“Maybe don’t fling that one next time, okay?” Bellamy motions to Zach, who sits on the porch snugly fitted in all his best winter gear, swinging his legs in barely contained excitement. “Hey bud, can you hand me the colored ones now?” Zach springs up, obediently gathering the green strings of lights and coming to stand beside Kane, who pats his shoulder.

“Mom’s going to go crazy,” Zach informs him proudly. Bellamy smiles and begins to wind the lights around the hooks.

Noticing the boy bouncing on his toes, he says, “Hey, you wanna finish the white lights around the bench? Wrap them nice and tight, okay? And stay back from the outlet, let Monty do that part.”

Zach nods obediently and begins curling the lights around the back of the bench, occasionally looking back up at Bellamy for his approval. Bellamy gives him thumbs-ups in the middle of stretching to hang the lights over the remainder of his side. Then Kane tosses the remaining slack to Monty, who feeds it to Jasper bit by bit.

“It sucks that Murphy had to cancel the gig tonight,” Monty calls.

“Postpone,” Jasper cuts in. “Postponing only. You know he'd never cancel altogether.”

“Is he really still going to play? Even if it snows?” Bellamy asks.

“Why, you got better plans?” Monty laughs when Bellamy aims an ornament at his head. “Besides, it's gonna be indoors at the Ark. It's always a good time.” His eyebrows wiggle. “Especially for some _slooowww_ dancing—” He yelps and ducks in time to avoid the considerably heavier fake wreath that Bellamy chucks at him.

Carefully, Bellamy gets down from the ladder, grasping Kane’s arm in thanks before stepping back to take a look at their progress.

It had been his idea to string up the lights while Clarke was away teaching her art class. She’d been bemoaning the lack of time all week, and Zach had mentioned how their house was never without decorations for Christmas. So when Murphy’s band had decided to delay their show because of the storm, it seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up. And after this morning… well, Bellamy wanted to give her something else to remember the day by, too.

A quick call to Raven and Abby had ensured that Clarke remained at her class longer than usual and got sidetracked on the way home—which, if he’s timed it right, should be just about perfect.

It hadn’t taken long to dig up the lights from a shelf in the back. Clarke’s excited scrawl had been all over the box that was nearly bursting with the green vines and multi-colored bulbs. Now the white lights wrap around the back of the porch bench, twisting their way up the two thin columns connecting it to the roof, almost like vines. A few strategic nails were already in place to wind the remaining portion of the lights before leading them out along the trellis, where Jasper took over to line the rest.

The box also had wreaths, the trusty fake tree that they’d been using for years — as Zach had informed him — plus holly, ornaments, mistletoe… Bellamy was doing his best not to think about that last one too hard. According to Zach, putting up the tree without mom around was a “no-no,” so the lights had been the next option.

Kane comes to stand beside him, arms folded. “Looks great. Almost like Clarke put them up herself.”

“I bet it’d be neater if she did,” Bellamy chuckles and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Hopefully she won’t mind the surprise.”

“Trust me, she’ll be delighted.”

That’s… an understatement, to put it mildly.

Bellamy’s once again teetering on the ladder, putting the finishing touches on a sprig of holly when Clarke’s laughter sounds behind him. He turns in time to see her round the corner, flanked by Raven and Abby, her hair streaming loosely from under a royal blue hat.

Then she sees the house, and stops dead in her tracks.

“Moommm!” Zach waves frantically, pointing at the house and positively _beaming._

Abby and Raven let out twin exclamations of approval, while Clarke just stands there in wonder, her eyes darting all over the scene in front of her. Soon Raven realizes her friend is several paces behind and runs back, looping an arm through hers to tug her forward. Clarke still seems to be struck speechless, though the corners of her mouth are turned upwards in an undeniably joyful smile as she hastens closer.

Bellamy scrambles down from the ladder, giving Zach a light nudge. The kid takes off racing across the lawn. Clarke scoops him up with a laugh, laying smacking kisses to his cheeks before Abby and Raven crowd in to do the same.

“Did we surprise you, mom?” Zach asks excitedly.

“You sure did, kiddo.” Clarke still sounds rather awestruck, and it’s making Bellamy nervous. He wanted to surprise her, yeah, but he didn’t expect— well, he didn’t expect it would be to this degree.

The awe never leaves her eyes as they roam over the house, over the dangling lights, over the now-cold coffee cups on the front porch, lingering on the stepladders and footstools they didn’t have time to put back. Her gaze drifts between Monty and Jasper and Kane, who all pointedly step aside so she can aim the full force of her gratitude on Bellamy. She smiles, and it’s devastating.

Zach reaches out to high five him as soon as they’re close enough. “We did it, Belly!” He cheers. “It was his idea,” he explains to his mother.

Clarke raises an amused eyebrow. “Was it now?”

Bellamy grins and shrugs. “Merry Christmas, Clarke.”

Still smiling gorgeously, Clarke puts a hand on his shoulder and rises to her tiptoes, her lips brushing his cheek for the longest four seconds of his life.

“Merry Christmas, Bellamy.”

* * *

It feels even colder than usual as Bellamy walks back to the bookstore. The wind picks up sharply, gusting at his face and tugging at his clothes as if trying to push him back in the direction of Clarke’s house. He pulls his hat further over his ears. Even though the storm’s scheduled to hit tonight, he doesn’t really care.

His stomach is full of pizza (with extra olives, because apparently Clarke has been paying more attention than he thought); the songs of _Anastasia_ still ring joyfully in his ears. Zach and Jasper had decided a sing-along was in order, and though it was hard not to be distracted by Clarke beside him, Bellamy had thrown his voice in with all the others.

It was chaos, of the best kind.

Now his legs feel like lead as he trudges up the stairs, all too aware that his time here is winding down. He doesn’t want to think about that, not a single bit, but—it’s foolish to try to ignore reality. Thankfully, that’s when Octavia calls.

“Did you kiss her yet?”

“No,” he sighs, though whether he’s irritated with her or himself he’s not really sure anymore.

“What the hell are you waiting for?”

Okay, her. Definitely her.

“When did you become Clarke’s number one cheerleader?” Bellamy retorts.

“Since my dumbass big brother fell head over heels for her,” she replies dryly. “You better not be flicking me off right now.”

Bellamy scowls at the wall, putting his hand down. “How is it possible I’m this crazy about I person I just met five days ago?” Bellamy wonders.

“Stop being a baby,” Octavia replies. “Most people would’ve already done something about it.”

“What’s the point? I don’t even live here, O! I’ve got like, three days, and then—”

“And then what?” She interrupts. “I don’t know where you’re so eager to go, Bell. You’re out of the army for good now. And you weren’t gonna live with mom and _lola_ forever.”

“You don’t know that,“he mutters sullenly.

“Bullshit. The only deadline is the one in your head. Flights can be cancelled, you know. They even have apps for your phone, old man—”

“I get it, I get it.”

“Do you?” Octavia’s voice softens. “Just don’t run from this because it’s not happening the way you expected. _It’s happening,_ Bell. That’s the point.”

“I guess.” He sighs. “You know what makes it worse? It’s like… I feel like I knew her before I got here. Wells was always talking about her kindness, her generosity, her intelligence. Sometimes I thought he was exaggerating, you know? The way people always talk up their best friends. But now… I see it every day, O.” He lets his head drop back to the pillow. “She’s really that incredible.”

“Then stop talking to me about it and tell _her_ that.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. Easier said than done.


	8. Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SNOW DAY!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't lie if I wanted to. This is my favorite chapter and I've been dying to share it. Thank you for all the kind feedback so far, and I really hope you enjoy :)

 

There’s a new stillness to the town when Bellamy wakes the next morning. Curious, he stumbles to the window and pushes aside the curtain. All his drowsiness vanishes.

A blanket of gleaming white covers everything, from the street to the park benches to the trees, branches sagging under the weight of the snow. The town is transformed. Gone are the worn roofs that worried him; he can’t even see the cracked pavement that he’s been tripping over all week. In their place is soft, white snow, layered atop the homes and ground like it was always there. And even as the sun comes up, its bright beams reflecting the new addition to the town, Bellamy realizes it’s still snowing. Slow, dreamy flakes that fall from the sky and float in the wind, not particularly caring where they land. It’s like every wintry fairytale description come to life right before his eyes.

 _Nothing like first snow._ Wells’ voice echoes in his head, loud and smug.

Bellamy has to grin. _Alright, alright. Maybe you were right about this._ In between getting ready and putting on coffee, he texts O a picture of the view from his window. Unsurprisingly, she calls just minutes later.

“Let me see!” She screeches through Facetime.

He laughs, “I already did,” but he’s walking to the window again anyways, unable to keep himself away from the spectacular sight. As he’s slowly panning the phone from right to left, he points out what structures he can, squinting against the sun glancing impossibly bright off the snow. Octavia can barely handle her excitement, and it makes him giddy too. In the middle of her rapid speech, a knock at the door startles them both.

Then O squeals. “Is it Clarke? I bet it’s Clarke. Ten bucks—”

“Shut up,” Bellamy hisses, just as Clarke calls, “It’s me, Bell!”

He can already hear O repeating _Bell, huh,_ smugly under her breath as he hurries to the door. “Let me say hi,” she demands.

“Be nice,” he whispers back. Opening the door, he’s greeted by Clarke in a cheery red hat and puffy dark jacket, complete with tall snow boots and a shovel in her hand.

“Snow day! Let’s go!”

He grins. “Give me one minute? My sister wants to say hi. She made me Facetime to show her the snow.”

Clarke’s eyes light up and she nods eagerly. He motions her over, sitting on the pullout mattress. She drops her coat on the chair and comes to hover over his shoulder. The end of her long braid tickles his arm.

“Clarke, meet my sister Octavia. O, this is Clarke Griffin.”

Without preamble, Octavia chirps, “Hey! You’re just as gorgeous as my brother said you were!”

Bellamy wants to faceplant into his pillow. No matter how old they get, his little sister will never stop being a brat at the most inopportune moments. After shooting a glare at the screen, he glances sideways at Clarke with a sheepish grin, then straightens in delight when he finds her blushing.

“I—um, thanks,” Clarke is a bit flustered, which is a new look on her that Bellamy quite enjoys. Of course it doesn’t last long. “You’re just as lovely as your pictures,” she says graciously.

“Clarke thinks we have great genes,” he adds, feeling cheeky. Mostly he just wants to know if she’ll turn as red as her hat.

Octavia has no problem agreeing with that. “Hell yeah we do! Hey you saw Kai, right? Can I see a picture of Zach?”

“Of course! Hang on,” Clarke rifles through her coat pocket to pull out her phone, missing how Octavia winks and gives a thumbs up to Bellamy. He frantically motions for her to cut it out. Then Clarke holds the screen up for Octavia to see, and his sister’s squeal makes Lincoln poke his head over her shoulder.

“Cute kid,” he says politely, then disappears out of sight again.

“And that’s Lincoln,” Bellamy says, grinning.

“So Clarke,” Octavia is not to be distracted apparently. “I know this was a crazy situation. But thanks for taking such good care of my brother over there!”

Clarke smiles shyly. “I’m trying. It’s the least we could do.”

As his sister opens her mouth to reply, the screen shakes a bit, and then a mass of dark curls invades the picture. Bellamy chuckles, glancing at Clarke. “Attention hog. Just like his mom.” He winks as Octavia yelps.

“Hey! I heard that.”

 _“Uncle Belly!!!”_ The picture clears, this time with Kai settled on Octavia’s lap. His nephew waves excitedly, reaching for the phone at the same time. Octavia gently pulls his hand back, showering him with kisses until he giggles.

“Hey buddy. You being good for your mom?”

“He’s being so good,” Octavia chimes in. “Today he even brought _lola_ flowers after their walk, didn’t you _bata?”_ She presses a kiss to his hair as the boy smiles proudly.

“Orchids and lillies, _tito!”_

“Wow, bud, good job!” Bellamy mimes a high five in the air, grinning when his nephew returns it on-screen. “Those are hard to find.”

His nephew beams. Then his eyes slide to Clarke and widen. With zero prompting, he utters a single word.

_”Tita?“_

Bellamy nearly chokes on his coffee. Clarke thumps his back lightly in concern, all the while looking between him and the phone screen. His sister has covered her mouth in laughter, hiding her face in Kai’s wild curls.

“Clarke,” Bellamy manages hoarsely. “This is my new friend Clarke. Can you say hi?”

“Hi Claaahke!”

“Hi Kai,” she laughs and blows him a kiss. “Are you having fun in the Philippines?”

He nods vigorously, chattering on in a mix of English and Tagalog that makes them all chuckle. Clarke is instantly taken, and when Bellamy tugs on her braid and pointedly asks Kai if she reminds him of anyone, the kid takes the hint like a pro and goes off on a _Frozen_ tangent. Eventually Octavia steps in before he decides they need to have a sing-along, and they say their goodbyes only after she’s extracted a promise from Bellamy to call back again with both Clarke and Zach.

After hanging up, he turns to Clarke with a grin. “So you’ve now met Kai.”

“He’s adorable. Already so handsome.”

“Good genes, princess.”

She pouts. “You are never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Probably not,” he grins.

“You suck.” She sticks her tongue out before a determined expression crosses her face. “So tell me what _tita_ means.”

“Um…” It’s his turn to panic. Standing, he says, “You know what, look at the time, we should really get going if we want to get your car out—”

“Oh no you don’t!” Clarke yanks on his arm, hard, making him tumble right back on the bed with a surprised shout. He lands off balance and they both fall backward in a tangle of limbs. Automatically, Bellamy braces himself on his elbows to avoid landing his full weight on top of her.

Which just ends up bringing them face to face instead.

Clarke’s head rests on the pillow, her smiling cheeks rapidly burning with a flush. She’d thrown out her arms to break his fall, and now Bellamy feels her fingers on his ribcage with every deep breath he takes. It’s like his brain has lost all control with her this close, and he’s only listening to the thud of his heart and the soft protest she makes when he makes one last-ditch attempt to pull back. Then her hands are pressing more firmly against his sides, urging him close as she leans up, and he’s done resisting.

Right before their lips meet, she says, “Tell me what it means.”

Bellamy smiles and brushes a stray curl back from her cheek. “Aunt.”

“Oh,” Clarke says. _”Oh.”_

Then their mouths are joined together, and the world fades around him. There’s only Clarke’s warm lips, silky smooth against his own, faintly tasting of mint from her chapstick. Bellamy doesn't do more than gauge the fit of his mouth against hers, savoring the softness of her beneath him. So he gets a little dizzy when Clarke’s tongue immediately pushes past the seam of his lips like she's not content to wait another second, licking into his mouth with unabashed eagerness. When he sighs, she winds her arms around his shoulders, fingers sinking deep into his hair as she pulls him more firmly atop her.

It’s not at all how he imagined their first kiss to be. There’s nothing tentative about it, no careful nips and pecks but instead one long meeting of their lips that feels like a fire’s been lit under him. It’s wonderful. Clarke kisses him like that was the plan all along, like she’s perfectly content to remain in his arms all day. And god, does he want that. More than anything.

When they finally part, it feels like coming up after being underwater for years. He’s hyperaware of every shift, every movement, every sound, down to Clarke’s quiet sigh of contentment. Blinking slowly, Bellamy watches her open her eyes and smile dazedly at him.

“Hi, _tito,”_ she teases. He laughs and buries his face into the crook of her neck, smoothing his lips over her thundering pulse.

“Not fair,” he mumbles. She hums, lips against his temple as her hand cards lazily through his hair. Eventually he lifts his head, dropping a gentler kiss on her mouth that leaves his heart racing all the same. “So now what?” He asks.

“Now we get to dig out my car from the snow,” Clarke giggles.

“Clarke—”

She leans up and presses her lips to his again, just for a moment, but it’s enough to stop his brain from functioning anyways. “We’ll talk,” she promises. “But—can we do that later? I just want to enjoy today. With you.”

Bellamy noses her cheek and nods. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go have a snow day, princess.”

* * *

It should be weird walking down the street with Clarke after he’s just held her in his arms and kissed her ten minutes prior. It should be—but it’s not.

Yeah, he kind of wants to take her hand and tangle their fingers together and pull her into a kiss every now and then when they pause at a streetlight, but—he’s kind of been wanting to do that for days, now. So it’s not really a new feeling. Aside from the sheer jubilation that rises inside of him when he realizes she’d probably be okay with him doing just that.

A red mitten waves in front of his face. “Hello! Earth to Bellamy!” Clarke is smiling almost secretly, like she knows what was just on his mind.

“You are very distracting,” he tells her, because what the hell.

She blushes and sticks out her tongue. “You’re mean.”

He laughs, feeling lighter than he has all week, and takes her hand in his. She weaves their fingers together without hesitating.

“So did I hear Octavia right? You’ve never seen snow? I thought she lived in Maine?”

“Only as of a year ago. Before that they lived in Georgia, and I was on tour most of the time anyways. We went to school in California, spent summers in the Philippines… when I joined the army we were always in the desert somewhere.” He shrugs. “I did fly over Germany once when it was snowing, but I was headed to the military hospital there, so…”

Clarke’s hand cradles his cheek when he hasn’t spoken for a full two minutes, and he shakes his head to clear away the past.

“Well we can’t have that,” she says lightly. “We'll treat you to a proper snow day.”

Half an hour later, Bellamy’s muscles are burning as he jams the shovel into the snow again. After tossing the latest pile aside, he leans on the handle for a moment to catch his breath. Annoyingly, barely half the car is uncovered.

“This is your idea of a snow day?” He rasps. When Clarke merely grins, he shakes his head. “I can’t believe you do this every year.”

Clarke flexes her biceps jokingly. “Surprised?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits.

“It’s not so bad,” she laughs. “Usually I have a lot of help.”

Bellamy smiles. “Let me guess, Wells was the first one here.”

“Of course.” She leans against the car and wipes her brow. “And Emori will drag Murphy over, and god forbid Kane doesn’t lend a hand, too. Raven hates the snow, but she’ll sit on the porch with hot chocolate and watch. Jasper and Monty usually aren’t far behind either.” She pulls her red hat more snugly over her ears. “Sometimes it’s just me and Zach, but usually that just descends into snowball fights.”

“Sounds fun.” Bellamy’s surprised at how wistful he sounds, but the way Clarke put it… it feels like less work and more play.

“It is,” she declares. “You’ll see—they’ll show up soon enough, and we’ll give you a proper Arkadian winter.”

Smiling, he starts to shovel again. He’s so lost in his thoughts that it takes him a little too long to realize Clarke’s been uncharacteristically silent for several minutes. Even the rhythmic crunch of her shovel has stopped.

That’s when something wet and cold hits the back of his jacket, narrowly missing the skin of his neck. Bellamy turns to find Clarke grinning wildly.

“That one was from Wells,” she says. Bringing a hand out from behind her back, she yells, “This one’s from me!”

Bellamy ducks in time to avoid the second snowball launched at him, but just ends up with a mouthful of snow instead. Groaning, he takes a little extra time to move, packing the snow underneath his hands. The cold seeps through his gloves, but his heart feels so warm it doesn’t matter. Finally wiping his mouth, he glances up to see Clarke’s sparkling eyes and can’t help his own grin.

“Oh, princess. You really shouldn’t have done that.”

She takes off with a squeal as he sends the snowball in her direction, catching the back of her leg. The car forgotten, they chase each other around her yard. Clarke’s joyful shrieks echo into the air as she dashes behind bushes and tree trunks, pelting him with snowballs in between. His jacket is covered in snow much sooner than hers, but his aim improves steadily enough that her coat is soon damp too.

And on occasion Bellamy maybe lets her snowball hit him if it means getting close enough to drop a kiss on her cheeks or nose or lips. Soon her skin isn’t just pink from the cold, and he absolutely _loves_ it.

Finally Clarke calls for a cease-fire, her breathless laughter tripping into the air as she trudges up onto the porch, towing him along with a hand on his sleeve. Stretching his legs out, Bellamy leans back and lets his eyes drift shut.

“Now this, I could get used to,” he says happily.

The gentle pressure of her mouth on his is still a bit startling, but not unwelcome by any means. Clarke tips his chin up to kiss him more fully, her mittened hand warm on his cheek as she coaxes sigh after sigh from his mouth until they’re both without air again.

They’re still sitting there smiling like complete goons when three figures turn the corner. Jasper waves his shovel with extra enthusiasm, barely avoiding hitting Monty while Harper laughs. Grinning, Clarke gets up to meet them halfway. Bellamy stands and stretches, then ambles after her.

“You’re a lot farther along than usual,” Monty says in greeting.

Clarke hooks her arm through Bellamy’s. “I had help. Until we got distracted by our snowball fight.” She grins up at him so sweetly that he nearly kisses her again. “Oh! Guys, this is Bellamy’s first snowfall!”

“No way!” Jasper looks at him in disbelief, and he shrugs.

“Okay now we _have_ to build a snowman,” Monty declares.

“Or a fort,” Harper adds. “Hey where’s the munchkin, Clarke?”

“Where do you think? With his beloved aunt, of course. Come on,” she says to Bellamy. “Let’s go finish so the real snow day can start.”

“Thought it already had,” he murmurs, but follows anyways.

Between the five of them, they manage to clear enough snow off her car that Clarke can wedge a door open to turn it on and start the heat. Jasper chatters on a lot, spending extra time teasing Monty about Miller. Even Harper and Clarke get in on it, mentioning all the shy looks and careful touches when they thought no one else was looking. Monty's a good sport, if a little red, but he seems to be through with any privacy around Bellamy, and that makes him truly happier than he has words for.

As more snow slops off the car, Bellamy stares at the growing piles of it that now surround them on the ground. Monty notices and nudges him.

“That’s the fun part,” he grins. “Trust me.”

“If you say so.”

Soon they’re all wiping sweat from their brows despite the cold, and Clarke insists they take another break. She takes a quick call, then informs them with a neverending grin that Kane is over at her mother's house helping to clear the driveway and will likely be there the rest of the day. Bellamy is in the midst of building his very first snowman when he hears Zach calling in the distance. The little boy is bundled in a puffy navy blue jacket and and red snowpants, his head covered by a matching hat.

“Did you coordinate your outfits?” Clarke grins at Raven, who follows behind him with her hair under a blue hat, her maroon jacket collar and scarf hiding half her face.

“Speak for yourself.” Raven taps Clarke’s red hat and gives gives a small wave to the rest of them before hurrying inside the house.

Clarke bumps his hip. “Told you. She's headed straight for the hot chocolate stash.”

“Mom!! Belly!” Zach comes over and tugs on both their arms. “I wanna slide!” Monty’s already started to pack the first snowpile high so that when Clarke swings Zach up top, he waves and comes flying down the little slope with a delighted squeal. Laughing, Bellamy gets the hint and starts shoveling the snow in a larger pile for Zach.

When the piles crumble and turn into an all out snowball fight again, he hoists the boy onto his shoulders. Zach has great aim, unsurprisingly, and from his new perch he slings snowballs with glee while Bellamy hurries around the yard. Emori arrives in the middle of it all and immediately adds herself to their team, her laughter loud and bright when she catches Murphy off-guard several times before he can respond in kind. Clarke escapes onto the porch to sit with Raven—the no-fly zone, as the dark-haired girl warns them—and they pass the thermos back and forth while chatting. Bellamy thinks he feels her eyes on him more than once, but he knows if he looks he’s going to end up facedown in the snow, so he focuses on keeping himself and Zach upright.

Eventually they’re all drenched and out of breath, and Clarke ushers everyone inside, pointing to a basket to shuck all their wet outer layers. When Bellamy wanders into the kitchen, she rises to her toes to give him a quick kiss, then hands him a steaming mug of hot chocolate. She shows him all the pictures of him and Zach that she took from the porch, and after a silent debate he sends a few to his sister.

Predictably, Octavia responds with a ton of heart-filled emojis and three words: _KISS THE GIRL._ Though he tries to hide his phone from Clarke, he thinks she sees the texts anyways, if the way her face suddenly reddens is any indication. He kisses her cheek because he can’t help it, and when she smiles and snuggles under his arm in full view of the others, a thrill shoots down his spine.

They warm up a frozen pizza in the oven and turn on a movie. Zach is soon passed out on the couch from all the excitement, his head in Raven’s lap and his feet in Emori’s. Clarke smiles gently and pulls a blanket over him, mouthing _thank you_ to the two girls. As Bellamy watches the snow fall from the kitchen window, her slender arms link around his torso, and he feels a light kiss between his shoulder blades.

“So,” Clarke murmurs, “did you enjoy your snow day?”

He grins and turns in her arms. “Best snow day ever.”

“It’s only your first one.”

He shrugs and nuzzles her nose. “You set a pretty high bar, princess.”

Clarke grins proudly. “Good.”

* * *

After he and Monty take out the pizza from the oven and set it on the coffee table, everyone huddles in the living room. It’s a calm that Bellamy hasn’t often seen in this house— quiet, contemplative, and content as they eat and just relax, enjoying each other’s company. Jasper and Monty start a game of cards that soon catches Murphy’s attention too, though he’s careful not to disturb Emori, who’s fallen asleep on his shoulder. Harper lounges on the floor chatting with Monroe, who'd joined them halfway through the pizza. Raven has a book open on her lap, one hand absently stroking Zach’s hair. He’d woken up once to eat, then promptly fallen asleep again.

And Clarke—Clarke is still sitting between his legs, where she’s been since they put the pizza down. His heart had leapt a mile and then some when she’d first nestled herself there, picking up a slice of pizza and leaning back against his chest. Then she’d glanced over her shoulder shyly, as if to say, _this okay?_ He’d simply wound an arm around her waist and kissed her shoulder in reply, and they hadn’t moved since.

Honestly, Bellamy would be fine if they didn’t move again.

They’re all content with just lolling about until Monty raises both arms in silent victory and high-fives those around him. Murphy scowls at the cards, looking like he might flip the table, but when Emori shifts in her sleep, he just brushes her hair back and settles for glaring some more.

“Wells would’ve seen that move coming a mile away.”

Everyone looks at Raven, who raises an eyebrow defensively. “What? He totally would have.”

“She’s right,” Clarke chimes in, clasping Bellamy’s hand. “He was obnoxiously good at cards. Forget trying to strategize. He’d basically won the minute he sat down.”

“His dad was a sore loser,” Bellamy says, smiling faintly.

Murphy grunts. “No surprise there.”

“You remember when they played each other?” Monty chuckles as everyone else groans. To Bellamy, he explains, “No one was allowed to disturb the air around them. They’d just sit there _all day_ staring at the cards, then each other, then the cards…”

“Sometimes at Raven,” Clarke mutters under her breath, sing-song. Bellamy hides his grin in her hair. Glancing at the other girl, he can almost imagine Wells sitting right there on the couch beside her, an arm thrown across her shoulders and the huge smile on his face.

It’s quiet for a moment, until Jasper says, “Remember that time when we thought a board game night would be a good idea?” Everyone throws up their hands in goodnatured exasperation, taking turns chiming in to spell out the story for Bellamy. In turn he relays his own story of the prank he and Miller pulled on Jaha involving hair dye, how they’d struggle to keep straight faces when he walked into the mess hall fuming.

The day continues on like that, the time stretching slow and sweet like honey, letting him savor every second of Clarke in his arms and the friends at his side. Like all good things, though, it eventually trickles to a close, and one by one the others slowly stand and stretch, then pick up their clothes from the pile that came out of the dryer fluffy and warm. Clarke asks each time if they need any help, and even when they say no, she makes sure to shove an extra slice of pizza into their hands on the way out. Emori surprises them both by giving Bellamy a quick hug, winking at Clarke.

Raven’s the last to go, only after Bellamy picks up a still-sleeping Zach and carefully deposits him into his own bed. As he comes back downstairs, Raven and Clarke are finishing a conversation at the door. Raven hugs her, glancing past her shoulder at him with a brief nod and half-smile. Blinking, he barely manages to hold up a hand in reply before the door shuts behind her.

Clarke turns and offers a small smile, moving to pick up the scattered cups and fix the blankets. Bellamy tosses the pizza box into the recycling bin outside, then follows her into the kitchen, hating what he’s about to say.

“I think we need to talk now, princess.”

“Yeah.” She frowns like she’s been thinking about it too, and he can’t help but lean over and kiss it right off her face. Her fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, pulling him close until he has to steady himself with a hand braced on the cupboard behind her.

“Is that the kind of talking you had in mind?” Clarke asks breathlessly. “Because I’m one hundred percent fine with that.”

Chuckling, Bellamy brushes a light kiss over her cheeks, her temple, and then her lips once more. “You’re really not making this easy,” he murmurs.

“Mmm,” she agrees, lips skating over his jaw.

“Clarke,” he sighs.

She whines her disapproval, but stops teasing. “Yeah. Okay. But let’s make more hot chocolate first.”

They settle down at the kitchen table with their mugs. Clarke takes a long sip, and then another, like she needs liquid courage. She continues to nibble at the marshmallows until Bellamy scoots closer, touching her knee.

“Hey,” he smiles.

Clarke lets out something between a laugh and a sigh. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Me either.” He takes one of her hands between his own, tracing the lines on her palm. Gradually he says, “I’m not sorry I kissed you. I know it was selfish, and probably a dick move since my flight is in two days, and you have a _son,_ but—I’m not sorry.”

“Neither am I,” Clarke whispers, and he smiles back, relieved.

“It wasn’t planned, if that helps,” he jokes.

She kisses his fingertips lightly, then looks back at her mug. “I know you’re leaving soon. And I won’t ask you to stay. Not just for me, or Zach, or— it’s not practical. And I’d want it to be your choice anyways… you shouldn’t stay because someone asked, you should stay because you want to.”

The way she says it makes him think she’s repeated the words to herself many times already.

“Logically, my brain knows all of this.” Clarke smiles ruefully. “But every time you walk in the door, I swear, Bellamy, it’s like… like I know no matter what day I’m having, it’ll be okay. Because you’re here. Which is crazy, I know, because we just met. But it's like I already knew you before, you know? And now that you're here, I just feel so—so—”

“I know.” He sets a hand atop hers. “Me too, Clarke.”

Her joyful smile soon fades. “That probably doesn’t make things any clearer.”

“It’s a lot better than you kicking me out,” he replies, and she laughs and hangs her head.

“God. This is the strangest week ever.”

“Tell me about it.” Bellamy pauses, organizing his thoughts. “Clarke, look, I never wanted to put you in this position. I know how seriously you take any relationship, especially one that affects Zach too. I'd never hurt either of you that way.”

She smiles, putting her hand flat against his cheek until he twists to kiss her palm. “I know that.”

“I don't take it lightly, either. I'm not—I didn't expect to ever feel this strongly about anyone. Let alone in such a short amount of time. And I know this week was overwhelming for both of us. I don't want to make this harder.”

“You’re not,” she insists, and when he scoffs, her fingers travel to his shoulder and dig in. “You’re not. If anything you made it so much better. I don't know how well I would've dealt with things alone.”

He squeezes her hand. “You're strong as hell. You'd have figured it out.”

“Maybe. But I'm glad I didn't have to.” She takes another gulp of her hot chocolate, then peers over the mug. “I won't ask you to stay,” she repeats firmly. “But you should know, if you did, it wouldn't be all fun anyways. Taking care of a kid is a full-time job. I'll never ask anyone to take that on just for me.”

 _You don't have to ask,_ Bellamy thinks, even as Clarke plows on.

“There's good days and bad days. This week was mostly good, thankfully. But it's not how it always is. And there's always the looming fear of having to send him out into the world, and you’d have to calm me down half the time because I worry so much—”

“Clarke, it's okay,” Bellamy interrupts. “You don't have to try to warn me off. I helped raise my sister too. I watch her bring up Kai. I know what it takes. It doesn't scare me.”

_What scares me is losing you now that I've found you._

As if she’s read his mind, she curls her fingers around his. “I want you to know one thing. Even if—regardless of what happens with… _this,”_ she motions between them, “I’ll always be your friend. Okay? You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” She smiles, a bit watery. “I’m going to be texting and calling and sending real-time updates, and nagging you for more stories about Kai and Zeus and Ceyx.”

Bellamy laughs and swallows the lump in his throat. “Looking forward to it.” Letting out a trembling breath, he rests his forehead on their joined hands for a moment. “It’s just two days, right? We can do this.”

“Absolutely. We’re friends. We can be friends.” Clarke tips his chin up. “Who occasionally hold hands.”

“And hug.”

“And kiss.”

Smiling, he presses his lips to her knuckles, then sits back and opens his arms. “Come here.”

Clarke bounds up like she was just waiting for him to ask. As she settles on his lap, he loops his arms around her waist and rests his head on her shoulder with a small sigh, humming when her fingers smooth lazily through his hair. It feels perfect and right and real, and he wants to remember this feeling the rest of his life.

“So now what?” He asks softly.

Clarke pulls back, studying him, then says, “I think you should sleep here tonight.”

Bellamy’s heart lurches. “Sorry?”

Though her cheeks are stamped red, she folds her arms with determination. “You should sleep here. With me.”

“You really think that’s wise?”

“It’s not romantic. It’s not!” She pokes him when he snorts. “It’s a friend helping out a friend. You’re not sleeping properly, Bell.”

“I know, but— What will you tell Zach in the morning?”

“I’ll tell him that our friend Bellamy slept over because he was having bad dreams. He’ll understand.” She traces the arch of his cheekbone. “But that’s not really what you’re worried about, is it?”

It figures she’d see right through him. “I’m not very good at sleeping next to people,” he admits. Eyes softening, Clarke tilts her head. He presses his nose into her shoulder, closing his eyes. “There’s no pattern. No real triggers. The dreams just sort of—hit, without any warning. Usually I don’t sleep much after that. But I wouldn’t want—you shouldn’t—”

“Hey,” Clarke says gently. Her hand cradles his cheek until he looks up at her. “I’m not going to break.”

“But you—”

“No buts,” she interrupts. “You don’t have to do this alone, Bellamy.” Before he can protest again, she says, “Besides, I’m not great at sleeping beside others either.”

It’s his turn to furrow his brow. “Really?”

She nods, looking him square in the eye. “I told you how my parents and I were in a car accident when I was younger. Mom and I made it out with broken bones. Dad didn’t.” She shrugs, an unbearable sadness crossing her features. “Like you said—no real pattern. Some nights just suck.”

Because he can’t bear the tears brimming in her eyes, Bellamy leans forward until their lips touch, and for a few minutes they just kiss, more chaste than they’ve ever been. He can feel Clarke’s wordless reassurances, her insistence on sharing this part of herself, and he knows he can’t say no. When they draw apart, Clarke curls further into his lap, and after a few minutes of stroking her hair, he gives in.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

* * *

Clarke’s fingers stay entwined with his as they turn off the lights and slowly go upstairs. Bellamy has to pinch himself repeatedly when his mind lingers, _screams,_ about the possibility of doing this every night.

Her room is kind of a mess, and it makes him smile, because of course this one corner of her life has to be. Clothes are piled haphazardly on a chair by the window, an unused sewing machine sits on the floor beside the dresser, her hamper looks like it might topple over any moment, and the floral comforter is covered in kids toys, random makeup items, and yes, books.

Bellamy loves every inch of it, just like he loves her.

Clarke finally releases his hand to check on Zach down the hall, motioning for him to use the bathroom that adjoins her room. Carefully side-stepping the stuffed animals on the floor, Bellamy picks them up on his way, setting them down on top of a second chair. Her bathroom boasts a colorful striped shower curtain; one of the lightbulbs above the mirror flickers back at him.

 _I should fix that soon,_ he thinks absently, then wonders what the hell he’s doing.

Hearing her soft footsteps, he splashes his face with water and finishes up quickly before stepping outside. “All yours, princess.”

“Thanks.” Clarke picks the stray items off her bed, tossing them onto the chair with the stuffed animals while he looks on in amusement. “You can, uh—” she gestures to his clothes, blushing a little. “Sleep however you want. I want you to be comfortable.”

“Thanks.” He’s touched, but still strips only to his white t-shirt, deciding that jeans should probably stay on. But will that make _her_ uncomfortable, then? She shouldn’t feel weird in her own bed. Pulling back the comforter, another thought hits. He forgot to ask her what side she usually sleeps on. Thanks to his internal debate, Bellamy’s still standing beside the bed, fully clothed, when Clarke emerges from the bathroom.

“Not a floral guy?” Her grin turns nervous when he can only seem to stare at her. Pale blue sleep shorts peek out from under her sweatshirt, followed by an unfairly creamy expanse of skin that makes his throat go dry. Crossing one leg in front of the other, Clarke bounces on her toes. “I—um, sorry, I should’ve told you. I get way too warm at night, so shorts usually… but I can put on pants—”

“No,” he says hoarsely. _Get a grip, loser._ “No, it’s fine. You’re fine.”

She arches a teasing eyebrow. “Am I now?”

“Shut up.” He laughs and puts his face in his hands. “God. Why are we so bad at this?”

Clarke laughs with him, tugging his hands away. “We think too much. Now come on. I told you, don’t feel like you need to tiptoe. Sleep however you normally do.” She turns off the main light, leaving only the dim bedside lamp.

“I normally don’t sleep with anyone,” he reminds her shakily, but decides to disrobe to his boxers anyways. “Right or left?”

In answer, Clarke gets in on the right. She fiddles with her alarm clock, bashfully glancing over at him now and then, then away again. Bellamy lies down beside her, trying to limit his movements and ending up stiff as a board. She switches off the lamp. Awkwardly, he bends an arm behind his head and stares at the ceiling. Clarke turns to her side, and even in the dark he just _knows_ she’s rolling her eyes.

“You’re ridiculous,” she informs him, laughter in her voice. “Turn.”

“Excuse me?”

Small, strong hands clamp onto his arm and give a shove. “Turn,” she repeats. Puzzled but also highly curious, Bellamy turns to his right, facing the wall.

“How is this helping?” He inquires.

Clarke drapes an arm over his torso and pulls herself flush against him. Their bodies align with a strange ease, her nose pressed between his shoulder blades and knees brushing the backs of his thighs. Her hand traces patterns on his chest, right under his heart.

“That’s how,” she says smugly.

A stupid grin stretches his mouth as he covers her hand with his. “Did you seriously just make me the little spoon?”

“You got a problem with that?”

“Absolutely not,” he sighs. Clarke’s smiling lips brush the back of his neck.

“Sleep,” she tells him, and he does.


	9. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussions, slow dancing, and a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely feedback on the last chapter and throughout this fic! I know this update is super late thanks to my favorite friend, writer's block, but hopefully you're still reading. Also I had to stretch a couple of pension/leave rules to make this work the way I wanted it to. Hope you enjoy!

Sleep isn’t completely uninterrupted.

Bellamy wakes more than once, momentarily startled by the other presence directly beside him. He hadn't been kidding when he said he didn't sleep next to others. But then he realizes it’s Clarke, and it’s easy to fall back asleep to the sound of her soft snores.

He takes comfort in not being alone in his surprise. Clarke’s high gasp is what wakes him for a second time. His eyes open in time to see her reflexively sitting up and pushing away from him on the bed, uncertainty etched across her face. He freezes, waiting for the inevitable moment she'll kick him out.

Instead, she blinks, then exhales, her features relaxing. “Sorry,” she whispers, grasping his hand tentatively.

Bellamy smiles and raises his arm, and after a second she curls herself against his chest with a small sigh. Rosemary fills his senses as he pulls her close. Sleep finds him quickly, and even when he wakes out of habit, the rosemary is still there, comforting and familiar, and Clarke's smiling blue eyes aren't far behind.

* * *

He spends the morning at the bookstore, having convinced Kane to join Abby for brunch.

Though he attempts to put away more of Wells’ books, he ends up spending most of the time thinking about the previous day’s conversation with Clarke. Well—that, and kissing Clarke, snuggling with Clarke, waking up to Clarke—basically, all about Clarke. He still can’t believe how much his life has changed, how much his heart suddenly feels like it’s expanded, just in the span of a week.

A large part of that is due to Zach. The kid had barely batted an eyelid earlier that morning when Clarke explained why Bellamy was still there. After looking between the two of them, his only inquiry was as to whether that meant pancakes or waffles for breakfast.

Bellamy simply hadn’t been able to let that statement go without action, which was how he found himself chasing Zach around the kitchen with batter-covered hands while Clarke watched them both with such adoration that his heart hurt.

Now he sits down in one of the aisles, a book hanging limply from one hand, and wonders. He’s never thought of himself a father figure before. Not just because of age or maturity—but because he genuinely couldn’t see it. Raising O had been a necessity; he'd never questioned doing it. It was his responsibility. But he still always felt like her big brother. Their mom eventually came home to sort out the things he just pretended to understand for O’s sake. Out in the field, he'd somehow found himself in the spot of protector again, shouldering the safety of his unit over and over. But having a kid of his own… being the _father_ —until recently, it felt like a foreign concept.

And yet, here he is, wanting to be part of every aspect of Clarke and Zach’s life. He understands her concern about not seeing the bigger picture, the hardships that come with raising a kid, except, he knows those too well thanks to his own upbringing. But the sheer amount of love that exists in Clarke’s house is another thing in itself. And he wants, aches, to be a part of it in any way he can.

The chime at the store entrance snaps him out of his daze. “Anyone home?” It's Monty.

“Be there in a sec!” Carefully stowing the book back in its box, Bellamy hurries to the front to shake his hand. “Hey. No bakery today?”

“Harper’s covering for the morning.” Monty looks past him and grins. “Clarke was right. This place does suit you.”

Bellamy chuckles. “Yeah, I like it a lot. It’s kind of nice spending time with just the books. Soothing.” He shrugs. “Plus we brought some over from Wells’ house the other day, so I figured I’d try to make space.”

“She mentioned that. It was good of you to go with her. I didn’t want her to be alone for that.”

“Me either. Though I kind of needed it too, so it wasn’t entirely selfless.”

“Still,” Monty says. “I know it helped a lot.”

Bellamy nods. “So what brings you by?”

He bounces on his toes, eyes alight. “I heard from Nate again. He’s being discharged from the hospital in a couple weeks.”

“That's awesome!” Bellamy tries to inject some surprise into his voice, hoping the other boy won’t notice or ask, since he's technically not supposed to know anything about that. “I’m guessing he’s coming straight here?”

Monty beams. “Yup. And he was kinda wondering if you'd still be here too,” he adds, equal parts sly and genuinely curious.

Bellamy sighs and leans against the counter. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” Frustrated, he rakes a hand through his hair. “Am I nuts for thinking of staying? I just got here five days ago. I barely know the place. I got lost trying to find Murphy’s shop again this morning. How can I even consider staying?”

“But…” Monty prompts.

“I don’t know. It just feels crazy.”

“No crazier than loving someone who keeps on leaving,” Monty smiles wryly. “Nathan and I got in a huge fight before he left last time. I told him not to be surprised if he came back in a body bag.” He shakes his head as Bellamy winces. “I know. Not my finest moment. I was just—I was pissed, you know? Every time he came back, I thought this would definitely be it, and then he’d turn around and leave again.”

Bellamy sympathizes. He’s been on both ends of it too. “It’s hard to come back,” he says. “When I got through my first tour, I thought I was invincible. That I could survive anything. My next tour… I was the only guy in my unit to make it back.” He exhales and looks at the ceiling for a moment. “Then I felt obligated to go, you know? Trying to make up for the shit job I did the last time.” He finally looks back at Monty. “There’s always an excuse. Everyone’s breaking point is different.”

Some people don’t have one. He doesn’t say that out loud.

“What was yours?” Monty asks.

He smiles. “My nephew. He was born while I was on tour. And when I came back… I took one look at the little guy and I knew I wanted to be there for _everything,_ you know? First steps, first words, first day of school, first date,” he laughs. “Kinda shifted everything into perspective real quick.”

“I can imagine.”

“My sister said if she’d known Kai would be the thing that stopped me from going back, she’d have gotten knocked up years ago.”

Monty laughs in surprise. “Damn. So what does she think about all this?”

“Honestly I think she would have called the airline and canceled the ticket for me if she could have.” He grins, reaching over the counter for his bottle of water. “She keeps telling me to stop over-thinking everything.”

“And do you?”

“No,” he admits sheepishly.

“Thought so.” Monty heads further into the bookstore. “Come on, I’ll help you out with these books and maybe you can tell me what’s got your mind all confused.” He glances over his shoulder. “Or should I say, _who?”_

Bellamy pretends to chuck his water bottle at him, grinning when the boy dives for cover. Monty emerges from another stack with his hands held up in surrender.

“Damn, Nate said you had it bad, but I didn’t realize how bad.”

“How does Miller even know?” Bellamy grumbles, handing him a pile of books.

“Apparently in the one conversation you two managed to have, Clarke was mentioned, and I quote, _’Fifteen times’_ in the span of a few minutes. Made an impression on him.” Monty grins. “Sound familiar?”

He rolls his eyes. “Great. Now he’s a guru.”

Monty laughs and elbows him. “Come on, man. Just admit it. That’s the first step.”

“To what?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

“Is it that simple? To get what I want?”

“No. It never is. But if it’s what you want, you’ll figure it out.” Monty skims through a few book titles, a smile forming on his face. “Wow, I remember these. Wells kept them way up on a shelf so no one could reach them. His prized editions.”

“I know, Clarke nearly cracked her head open trying to get them.” Bellamy brushes dust off one. “I’m still trying to figure out what to do with them. Feels wrong to put them in the store… I was thinking maybe they’d be a great gift for Zach, you know?”

Monty stops and looks at him for a long time, to the point that Bellamy starts to squirm and finally glares. “What?”

His friend smiles. “You know exactly what you want, dude.” With that, he disappears into another row to retrieve a second box of books.

Bellamy stands there dumbly for a few minutes, considering, then goes back to helping him. Monty doesn’t hesitate to fill the silence with more stories. His and Miller’s first meeting at the town hall; the way Wells and Clarke would team up to leave them alone on multiple occasions; their first nerve-wracking date that Raven and Jasper tried to spy on and failed, loudly and hilariously. Bellamy finds himself devouring the tales, fascinated by this other side of Miller that he never really knew but already likes. It helps paint a fuller picture of his staff sergeant, makes small things suddenly click.

All the while he wrestles with himself whether or not to let Monty in on what he knows. The guy deserves some peace of mind—he's clearly in love and yet holding back because he's not sure what Miller's future holds. Except after talking to Miller, Bellamy knows that the only future his staff sergeant wants is with Monty. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to let him in on it.

“So you’re coming to the show tonight, right?” Monty asks when they stop for a break.

“Yeah. Emori invited me. And I doubt Clarke is going to let me back out.”

“Why would you back out?”

Bellamy shrugs, fiddling with a pen. “Just don’t want to make this harder for either of us.”

“That’s stupid. You’re not backing out,” Monty says firmly, and he has to grin.

“Great Clarke impression.”

“I’ve had years of practice.” They both chuckle at that and turn to reshelving, and Bellamy pretends not to notice when Monty sets another collector’s edition book on top of what he’s started to think of as the ‘Zach pile.’ Eventually he insists that he can finish up himself, freeing Monty to check on his shop again before joining Jasper and Raven at the show. As Monty reaches the door, Bellamy resolves his internal debate and calls his name. The other boy turns around.

“I got a call from my CO yesterday. They’re mailing me a bunch of shit to sign for Miller.” Bellamy raises an eyebrow meaningfully. “Exit paperwork.”

Monty gapes. His jaw opens and closes for two minutes without a sound, and then he croaks out, “Really?”

“Really. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

Surprising him, Monty walks right up to him and grabs him in a bracing hug. “Thank you,” he breathes quickly, and then he’s out the door, promising to see him later at the concert.

* * *

Clarke’s wearing a dress.

It’s a deep green fabric that stands out gorgeously against her skin. The neckline and sleeves are made up of a sheer lace pattern; the rest is solid, a thin black belt encircling her waist before the dress flares out overtop a pair of thick grey stockings. Strands of hair are pulled away from her face, twisted and pinned back like a crown over her loose waves.

Bellamy's only faintly aware that he's standing on the porch in the cold, staring like a moron, but the pink on Clarke's cheeks is deepening to red so he really can't stop, either. Finally her laugh chimes quietly into his ear as she pulls him close for a hug. He returns her embrace as long as he dares, then remembers his manners and holds out the bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Tulips?” She looks both flattered and delighted, reaching out to bury her nose in the petals. “Thank you, Bellamy. They're beautiful.”

“They reminded me of you,” he says honestly. She smiles and ducks her head, holding out her hand.

“Come on in. I'm just getting Zach ready.”

She doesn't let go of his hand all the way to the kitchen, not even while filling a vase with water and setting the flowers inside, and though it’s probably more difficult that way, he can’t find the words to tell her to let go. Setting the vase on the kitchen table, she beams at him. He presses a kiss to her palm, sighing when she steps closer to cradle his cheek.

They stand in the kitchen for a long moment, his fingers wrapped around her wrist, her hand on his cheek, foreheads touching. Bellamy's eyes drift shut.

Then a plaintive call of _”Mooooommm,”_ sounds from upstairs, and they both chuckle. Clarke tugs him with her into Zach’s room. The boy bounces off his bed when he sees Bellamy, hugging him around the waist with only one arm of his sweater properly on. Bellamy chuckles and listens to him chatter about their day while helping him fit his other arm through the sleeve, then ruffles his wild hair while Clarke looks on.

“You look great, bud. So grown-up.”

The boy wrinkles his nose in the spitting image of his mother. “I don’t like getting dressed up. But the music is fun!”

“It sure is. And getting dressed up isn’t so bad.” Bellamy tweaks his nose. “Gotta impress the ladies.”

“Girls are gross.”

Both Clarke and Bellamy snort at that, and on the way out Clarke whispers, “I’m going to cry the day he stops thinking that.”

“Don't worry, he'd never forget who his best lady is,” Bellamy winks back, and she smiles and leans up to kiss his cheek.

* * *

Murphy’s band is awesome.

It’s no wonder that they’ve attracted nearly the whole town. The Ark is jam-packed from corner to corner with kids and adults alike, talking and mingling and just generally sharing in a moment of playfulness amidst the trials brought out by the storm. Bellamy finds himself leaning against the wall next to Monty, half-listening to him argue with Harper over where they’re going to take Miller first when he gets back, and half-watching Clarke and Zach swaying to the music. Clarke catches his eye once or twice and smiles, sending his heart into a tailspin again.

The center of the Ark closest to the stage soon transforms into something of a mini-dance floor, and it’s not long before Zach decides he wants to join in. Zoey and Harper lead the way, singing along loudly with the band onstage. Zach tugs on Raven’s hand to pull her into the fray while Clarke looks on in delight, but then the boy turns suddenly, zeroing in on Bellamy.

“Belly, you dance with mom,” he orders.

Bellamy fights a grin. “Bossy kid,” he murmurs to a blushing Clarke. “Wonder where he gets that.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replies primly, and this time he does laugh, bumping her shoulder until she giggles.

“Yeah, _Belly,”_ Emori seems to have overheard. “I think the next song would be _perfect_ for a slow dance.”

He is absolutely not objecting, but there’s just one more thing— “Is Aunt Raven okay with that?” He asks pointedly.

Clarke’s mouth twitches as she kneels to properly tie Zach’s sneakers, while the others all pretend not to look at Raven. She stares right back at Bellamy, and he raises an eyebrow. _You know what I’m asking._

She considers him for a long moment, her eyes darting once to Clarke and then back again. Finally she gives a small flick of her wrist, shooing them off.

Bellamy grins and holds a hand out to Clarke. She takes it without hesitation, following him further into the middle of the floor. He picks a dimly-lit spot among the other swaying couples and bands an arm around Clarke’s waist, drawing her close while linking the fingers of their other hands. She rests her cheek on his shoulder with a happy sigh, immediately curling her arm around his shoulder to bring their bodies close.

They dance for three songs in a row.

Bellamy’s not sure if it’s actually in the set to play that many slow songs one after the other, but for once he doesn’t mind whoever has intervened. The longer he gets to keep Clarke in his arms, the better. She seems to have the same idea, her fingers clutching his and her nose buried into the crook of his neck like she’s breathing him in. Now and then her lips will brush over his pulse, curving into a smile as she realizes his heart is at a near gallop.

“Something the matter?” She asks, eyelashes fluttering.

He pouts. “Not cool, princess.”

Grinning widely, Clarke curls her arms around him even tighter. He responds in kind, not particularly caring that they’ve stopped moving and are just standing there holding each other. She nudges her nose against his.

“I really want to kiss you,” she murmurs.

He sighs. “I really want to kiss you too. But if I start, I might not stop.”

“And that’s bad because…?”

“Claarke,” he whines, dropping his forehead to hers.

“Bellamy,” she replies, but her voice is just as breathy.

He sighs. “We’re so bad at this.”

“The worst,” she agrees, grinning. “So kiss me already.”

Bellamy does, chaste and far too quick, but it makes her sigh all the same and curl back into him, so it’s perfect.

Soon the tempo speeds up again, and he’s alternately thankful and peeved because he has to let go of Clarke. More peeved than anything, because, come on. But he also knows that if he’d held her longer, he might’ve done or said something stupid. So he lets himself get caught up in the beat of the music and just enjoys Clarke and Zach dancing beside him and Monty at his back and his new friends around him while Murphy’s band belts out song after song long into the night.

Bellamy politely refuses Clarke’s invitation to stay over again, allowing himself a swift kiss on the cheek, and another to her hand, before walking backwards out of her yard.

“Sweet dreams, Bell,” she calls, the picture of innocence if not for the way she’s biting her lip, and he groans.

“You’re mean.”

Clarke laughs and leans against the porch bench, watching him right up until he’s turned the corner out of sight. Bellamy forces himself to continue on, one foot in front of the other, ignoring the loud voice in his mind that tells him he’s going the wrong way.

* * *

When his phone rings that night, he doesn’t answer right away, staring at the screen and wondering if what he’s about to say will be too selfish. Finally he taps the green button and puts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, O.”

His sister picks up on his tone immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’ve just been thinking.”

“About…?”

“Everything,” Bellamy sighs.

“Oh, Bell.” If she’d been next to him, she’d probably have laid her head on his shoulder. “What can I do?” She asks.

He considers, then says, “Be honest with me.”

“I always am.”

“I know. But this is about money. So I really mean it.” He takes a breath. “O, are you guys okay? Has the pension been enough for Kai and everything else you’re doing?”

Octavia is silent for a minute, and it makes him stand up and pace around his tiny space. “Bellamy,” she says deliberately, “I haven’t drawn from that account in four months.”

He stops.

“It was our choice,” she plows on now. “Mine and Lincoln’s. We weren’t going to let you pay for our shit forever, big brother. I know you wanted to help, and you have. So much. You’ve given me and mom and _lola_ everything. Besides, I've got a job now too. Between me and Lincoln, we're good.” She pauses. “I thought you knew. Haven’t you been checking the balance?”

“Not for a while,” Bellamy admits, finding his voice again. “I figured you’d tell me if we were getting low, and I was going to pick up a job soon anyways—”

Octavia’s laughter cuts him off. “Trust me, there’s no danger of it being low for a long time, Bell.”

“Why haven’t you used it?”

“Because it’s _yours,_ Bellamy. Wait— just listen first,” she says softly. He closes his mouth. “I told you. You gave us so much, for so long. It’s your turn now. Start your life, Bellamy. Your real life.”

“I have a life there,” he argues, but his heart isn’t in it, and she knows it.

“What, hanging out with mom and lola all day? Bell, they love you, but even they’re getting sick of you.” Octavia’s voice softens. “You might not realize it, but you’ve sounded so happy this week. I hear it in your voice every night. Mom could tell after just five minutes of talking to you. You’re _happy.”_

"Still... it'll be a big change. And I might use a lot of the money. If I stay. And lola wanted a house too—"

"Bell, she's told you a thousand times, she's perfectly fine where she is now. She's got mom, and neither of us are ever gonna wimp out on a plane ticket again. So what are you really afraid of?"

Bellamy falls back onto the pillow, his heart churning. “It can’t be this easy.”

“Are you fucking kidding? Nothing about this has been _easy,_ Bell. I had to watch you leave for that stupid war time after time after time,” Octavia's voice breaks a little, and he closes his eyes against his own tears. “This was _not_ easy, Bellamy,” Octavia repeats sternly. “You traded your life for us. Now it’s time to go get what you want.”

* * *

After they hang up, Bellamy lies awake for a while, just thinking. The possibilities are suddenly endless. But there’s one idea his mind keeps returning to, one that had occurred to him as a fleeting thought, a feeble hope more than anything else. But suddenly it’s looking like a very possible reality. He sits up and shoves his feet into his boots while putting the phone to his ear.

First, he calls the airline.

Second, he calls Kane.


	10. Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Planning, planning, planning—and telling Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments and encouragement on this fic! It really pushed me to karate chop my writer's block and get this chapter out :D Last one up will be the epilogue. Sorry for the delay between chapters but I really hope you enjoy this and thank you again for reading! :)

As soon as he hears keys jingling outside, Bellamy hurries over and opens the door. “Thanks for coming,” he says gratefully, ushering Kane into the store.

“Of course. You said it was important.” Kane looks concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” He laughs, a bit overcome with what he’s about to say. “I—uh. I have a proposition for you. You know how you were saying the store has become a financial burden, and you wanted more room, to expand, and everything?”

The other man nods, clearly puzzled.

Bellamy grins. “Well, I was thinking… maybe there’s another place for all these books. And maybe you could use a partner.”

* * *

Kane stays long into the night. They draw up a business plan, draft contracts, even create a rough blueprint based on their earliest ideas. Bellamy purposely leaves a lot of it blank—if all goes well, he’s sure Clarke will have plenty to say herself. And that's a big _if,_ as far as he's concerned.

“Hey,” Kane taps his shoulder where he's slumped over the counter mid-yawn. “What's on your mind?”

Bellamy scrubs a hand over his face. “I just—am I overstepping here?” He asks. “Would Wells hate this? Selling the store and changing his whole house… I know it's with good reason, but—” he sighs. “Clarke said he wanted to keep the house for his father. I just don't want to go against his wishes. Or Clarke's.”

Kane considers for a long moment, brow creased. “I'll say this: Wells was honoring Thelonious by keeping the house the way it was. But I don't think he enjoyed it. He spent most of his time at Clarke's. It's one thing to preserve a memory, but he and his father had such a mixed relationship. To be honest I think he'd be proud to see the place transformed into something full of love and life again.” He smiles. “And as to the store, it's not like you're selling it to a random stranger. You know it'll be in good hands.”

 _”If_ Miller ever gets back to me,” Bellamy grumbles, eyeing his phone. But Kane’s words have put him at ease; he just hopes Clarke will feel the same.

The older man chuckles. “You're gonna be fine, son.” He holds out a hand for him to shake. “Welcome to the family business.”

Bellamy grins.

* * *

He’s woken just a couple of hours later by a phone call. Grappling blindly in the dark, his hand finally closes around his phone. “Hello?” He rasps, blinking against the early light.

“You sound awful,” comments his staff sergeant.

“Hey.” Bellamy’s grogginess vanishes at the sound of Miller’s voice. “So you got my message?” He hadn’t been sure if the scary nurse would relay it, as payback for last time. But it looks like she did.

“Yeah, what’s so urgent that you had to call in the middle of the night? You know she’s cranky enough as it is.”

“Where are you and Monty going to live when you get back?” Bellamy asks.

“I—uh—what?”

Bellamy laughs and gets up to make coffee. “So I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh oh.”

* * *

Late into the morning, the shop door chimes. Bellamy pops up from under the counter to be met by Clarke’s radiant grin. It takes everything in him not to blurt out the news all at once, not to sweep her off her feet then and there and never let go.

Clarke is blissfully ignorant of his thoughts. “I heard someone was playing matchmaker,” she drawls, resting her elbows on the counter.

He grins and rubs his neck. “I just offered to take over for a few hours, that’s all.”

 _“And_ pointed out that it was a great day for ice skating,” Clarke says knowingly. “I believe the phrase _lunch date_ was even tossed around?”

“Thought I’d help you out a little.”

“Unbelievable,” she laughs. “I’ve been trying to set them up for _months,_ and then you pop in, and poof! They’re going on a real date!” She claps her hands. “I just spent the last hour with mom. She’s more nervous than I’ve ever seen, which is saying a lot since she’s a surgeon.”

Bellamy chuckles, thinking of Kane smoothing back his hair and adjusting his shirt when he thought no one was watching. “I may or may not have been consulted about flowers.”

“Oh?” Intrigued, Clarke leans closer, the birthmark above her mouth momentarily distracting him. “Do tell.”

“I suggested tulips or azaleas,” he says as casually as possible. When Clarke doesn’t reply right away, he busies himself with organizing the books on the counter alphabetically. No matter that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her blushingly putting his bouquet of tulips in water just yesterday. Or that Emori had slyly inserted azaleas as her second-favorite into a recent conversation. Like mother, like daughter—or so he figured.

“Curious choices,” Clarke remarks.

He glances up to find her fighting a smile, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Lucky guess,” he replies, and she grins victoriously.

“Bellamy Blake is a secret Cupid,” she sings, doing that little shoulder wiggle of hers.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh wait! You’re better than Cupid—you’re the Matchmaker!”

He furrows his brow. “The who?”

 _"Scarier than the undertaker, we are meeting our matchmaker,”_ Clarke sings, breaking into a laugh. Bellamy’s jaw drops as he recognizes the song from Mulan. In a pretend huff, he sweeps the books off the counter and heads deeper into the bookstore. Clarke follows, still singing and generally being adorable while he puts the books back and refuses to join in. But Clarke is undeterred.

 _“With good fortune — and a great hairdo —”_ she ruffles a hand through his hair, _“you’ll bring honor to us allll.”_

Soon his shoulders shake with the laugh that he just can’t contain any longer, and she cheers and hooks her arm through his, pulling him into a dance with her. He twirls her through the bookstore, spinning in and out of shelves until they’re both breathless with laughter. They come to a stop in the sci-fi section, Clarke leaning against his chest and still giggling occasionally. Bellamy rests his chin atop her hair, his hand lightly stroking up and down her spine and smiling when she can’t hide her slight shiver.

“I’m guessing it was a Mulan morning with Aunt Raven?”

She looks up at him with a mischievous grin. “The only way to start a Sunday off right.”

Bellamy returns her smile, making no move to let go. Because he has plenty more Sunday mornings to look forward to—with her. The thought makes him positively giddy.

“Hey.” Clarke taps his chin, blue eyes curious. “What’s going on in your head?”

“I…” He exhales, trying to figure out where to start.

“Don’t overthink it,” she interrupts, mistaking his silence for worry. “I don’t care if you’re going tomorrow, I don’t want to stop—”

Her words cuts off in a tiny gasp as his lips find hers. Bellamy knows he should have told her by now, shouldn’t keep her in the dark this long, but— _god,_ he wants to kiss her. Twelve hours without a kiss has been long enough. Clarke seems to agree. With a low moan, her hands slide up his back to pull him closer until she’s pressed up against the bookshelf, his mouth locked with hers. He’d intended to keep this slow, a caress, but when her nails scratch the back of his neck he can only groan helplessly and lick past her lips, emboldened when her tongue instantly meets his.

He loses track of how long they stand there, utterly wrapped up in each other. But when they finally separate, he finds the same undeniable longing that he feels mirrored on her face.

“Bellamy,” she whispers.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He drops his forehead to hers, eyes closing as her hand comes up to graze his cheek.

“Don’t be sorry,” she murmurs.

He takes a deep breath. Now or never.

Opening his eyes, he leans back just enough to see her face. “Listen—I need to tell you something.”

“Uh oh. That’s never good.” Her attempt at a joke is weak at best, overshadowed by the pure concern in her eyes.

Bellamy leans in to kiss her again, decidedly softer, wanting to erase the worry entirely. He’s incapable of keeping it short, just so damn happy to have her in his arms that he gets lost in it easily and leaves them both gulping in air afterwards.

Getting his bearings, he rests one hand on the shelf behind her, keeping his other hand clasped with hers. “I know we decided it wasn’t fair to either of us, or to Zach, to start something when I was leaving so soon. But—what if I didn’t go?” He gulps, trying not to read too much into the way her eyes widen.

Clarke’s grip tightens suddenly, fingers digging into his shoulders like she might not stay upright otherwise. “Are you—what do you mean?”

“If I don’t leave…” He takes a deep breath and strokes her cheek. “If I don’t leave, Clarke, what then?”

“Then—oh my god, Bellamy, then _everything_ ,” she says fiercely, clutching his collar. “But how—”

“Kane’s told you about the situation with the bookstore, right? Financially?” He asks even though he knows, waiting for her to nod affirmatively. “Well—long story short, that’s not going to be an issue now. He has a new business partner.” Bellamy smiles shakily. “Me.”

Clarke’s mouth drops open. For a few seconds, no sound emerges. He watches her process the new information; watches as her confusion turns to astonishment and then—joy, undeniable and wild.

With something between a shriek and a laugh, Clarke crashes their bodies together in a hug that sends him into the rack of books behind him. Laughing, Bellamy catches his balance and hugs her back, lifting her off her feet and burying his face into the crook of her neck. Her pulse thunders under his lips, sending his heart racing even faster. Clarke's arms are linked tight around him, the whole length of her body fitted against his as they just hold each other. She presses wonderfully soft kisses to his temple, his ear, his jaw, humming her happiness against his skin until he finally sets her down and her lips lovingly meet his.

Because this is Clarke, she asks afterward, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Clarke.” Bellamy pulls her against his chest, folds his arms around her tight. “This is all I’ve ever wanted.” Sighing, he kisses her again, then strokes her cheek gently. “Come on. There’s something else you should see.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, blueprints are scattered over the counter. Clarke is perched on the countertop, bent over the sketches, while Bellamy stands in front of her, trying not to hover. His hands have been shaking since he retrieved the papers from under the counter. He feels like he’s been talking for an eternity, explaining his idea to convert Wells’ house into a proper library space. He’d drawn up his ideas for the first floor with a few variations and Kane’s input on pricing; now it’s just a matter of Clarke’s opinion.

“So?” He asks carefully. “What do you think?”

Clarke’s fingers brush over the lines of the blueprints again, almost reverent. Then she looks at him with bright eyes and pulls him close. “I can’t believe you did all this.”

“I didn’t do anything. This is just the first step. We can change whatever you want. I know it would be a lot of work, and a lot of money.” He swallows. “I just didn’t want you to worry about the money part anymore.”

“I would still help pay for it,” she argues, squeezing his shoulder.

Bellamy smiles. “Yeah. But I can jumpstart the whole process.” He places a kiss on her palm. “I know you wanted to keep the house in Wells’ memory. I get that. But I think it’s possible for you to do both and still create a great home for all these books, just like he was trying to do here with the store.”

She nods, mouth quirked to the side in thought. “Speaking of, what about the store? What's going to happen to it?”

Bellamy can’t help but grin. “Well... the upstairs is already a living space. And I just happen to know of a new couple who might be looking for place like this to renovate for all for themselves.” He wiggles his eyebrows when Clarke’s mouth drops open.

“What? Who?” In the next breath, she squeals, “Oh my god!! Is Miller coming home for good?” When he nods, she throws herself at him in a hug again and he laughs, sharing in her delight. 

“Just between us and Monty though, okay?” He says afterwards. “Technically you’re not supposed to know yet.”

“My lips are sealed,” she promises, still grinning ear to ear.

Bellamy wraps his arms around her waist. “This place will be in good hands. Kane’s already agreed to give them a good sale price so that they can afford the renovation. Hell, he’ll probably help them fix it up. So will I.”

“The whole town will,” Clarke says confidently, and he’s pretty sure she’s right.

He rests his forehead against hers. “It’s entirely your call, Clarke. I totally get it if you decide to keep the house as is. But if you do go for it, I just wanted you to know you won’t be alone.”

Clarke leans in and kisses him long and hard. Then she looks at the blueprints again, her face full of longing. Bellamy absently strokes the skin at her waist, letting her come to a decision on her own. Smiling, she turns back at him and holds out her hand.

“Give me a pen.”

* * *

When the shop door opens again later that afternoon, Monty walks in followed by Raven, with Zach clinging to her shoulders in a piggyback ride. Bellamy looks up from where he’s been hovering over Clarke’s shoulder for the past half hour, trying to resist the urge to pat down his hair again. Sure, they’d gotten a lot of work done in planning the renovation, but, well, they’d also gotten distracted by each other once or twice. And then some.

Clarke tucks a curl of hair behind her ear and smiles up at him, equal parts elated and bashful. He grins and kisses her forehead before letting her go to greet the others. Raven crouches to let Zach down, and he immediately runs further into the bookstore.

“He’s after the next Percy Jackson book,” Monty explains. “Jasper got him all wound up after they finished reading the first one and watched the movie trailer online. Right, Raven?”

Raven doesn’t answer. She’s too busy eyeing the blueprints on the counter behind them, her brow furrowed. After a moment, she aims a surprised look at Clarke, who hooks her arm through Bellamy’s and beams. Raven’s eyebrows shoot up; she assesses the situation at once, throwing him an impressed look. Monty doesn't take long to catch on either, his face splitting into a huge grin.

“I owe Zoey twenty bucks,” he says, not sounding mad at all.

“And Jasper owes me.” Raven raises an eyebrow at Bellamy's amusement. “What? Didn't think we'd pass up a chance to make some money, did you?”

“Actually I'm just surprised you bet on me,” he replies, and her expression eases.

“If it helps I was betting more on Clarke. She can be very convincing when she wants to be.”

He grins, looking down at the woman beside him. “That’s true.”

Clarke leans up to kiss his cheek, giving his arm a quick squeeze before going to find her son. Bellamy shoves his hands into his pockets as Raven picks up a few of the house sketches, her keen eyes tracing every detail. A small chuckle to his left makes him glance at Monty, who’s taken a seat by the window to to rapidly type away on his phone—likely informing everyone else of the news. Bellamy can’t even be mad about it.

Turning back to Raven, he taps the paper and says, “Suggestions are welcome. There’s plenty of room for adjustments.”

She nods, looking rather pleased, and props a hand on her hip. “So it looks like we’re going to have to get to know each other better.”

“Looks that way.”

She eyes him a moment longer, then breaks into a grin. “I'll get your secrets from Miller.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. “You can try.”

They both look to Monty, who raises his hands and shakes his head. “Nope. No way. I am not taking sides. I am Switzerland.”

Chuckling, Bellamy claps his shoulder once before heading down the aisle to where Zach sits, curiously looking through the titles on the shelf. There’s already three books beside him in a neat pile, no doubt to bring home. Bellamy grabs one of the books he'd been saving from Wells’ house and crouches beside the boy.

“Hey bud. I found this at your Uncle Wells’ house.” He shows him the cover of _The Thief Lord._ “Thought you might want to add it to your collection. What do you think?”

Zach’s eyes light up and he drops the other book in his hand to read the back cover of the new one. He keeps flipping it over to look at the front again, tracing the shadowy silhouette on the cover. Clarke comes up behind them to add another book to the pile — _Pip Bartlett’s Guide to Magical Creatures._ He grins, thinking of their earlier conversation where he’d suggested it, but doesn’t turn to face her yet. Zach’s eyes shift to the cover and widen. Before he can get too distracted, Bellamy ruffles his hair and gets to the point.

“So listen, Zach… I want you to know I’m going to be sticking around for a while. Here, in town. If that’s okay with you.” He waits for inquisitive blue eyes to meet his.

“That’s good. Mom wanted you to stay.”

Clarke’s hand squeezes his shoulder, and Bellamy smiles. “What about you? Is it alright with you if I hang out with you guys more often?”

“Duh.” Zach goes back to his book, apparently done with that conversation. Bellamy chuckles and glances up at Clarke with a raised eyebrow. She winks.

Then Zach tugs his hand expectantly. “There’s one thing, though.”

Bellamy holds his breath.

“Now you _have_ to learn to ice skate.”

* * *

After all the excitement of the day, dinner ends up being a quiet affair. Bellamy finds himself standing in Clarke’s kitchen patiently listening to Zach recount the plot of Percy Jackson while Clarke sets out ingredients on the counter. The boy is rapidly filling the sheets of paper in front of him with drawing after drawing. Every now and then, Clarke passes by Bellamy to retrieve something and steals a kiss on her way, leaving him with a permanently stupid grin.

Zach continues to chatter on, his feet dangling off the chair where he’s drawing at the table. With his voice filling the background, they set about making dinner. It’s mundane and routine and so, so comforting; even the simplest task is more enjoyable with Clarke at his side. More than once Bellamy just stops what he’s doing to look at her, unbearably grateful for the strange twisted path that brought him to Arkadia.

They eat dinner in the living room to the tune of _Finding Nemo_ , with Zach glued to the TV screen. Clarke snuggles right under Bellamy’s arm on the couch and remains there, occasionally looking up to share an anecdote or two and sometimes just to smile at him, bright and sweet.

When Zach begins to yawn hugely, Bellamy takes that as his cue to unwind himself from Clarke. He loads the dishwasher while Clarke ushers Zach upstairs. As he’s about to follow, his phone rings. He catches Clarke’s eye and mouths _Octavia,_ motioning to the door. She smiles and nods, hopping up the stairs after her son.

Bellamy steps out onto the porch, pulling his coat close against the winter night. “Hey, O.”

“Hiiii big brother,” she sings. “So should I expect my invitation to be in the mail or carried by doves?”

“Shut up,” he laughs, leaning against the porch bench.

Octavia’s laughter chimes into his ear. “I’m so happy for you, Bell,” she says, and he wishes he could hug her right then and there.

“Thanks, O. I’m gonna miss you guys a lot, though.”

“Of course you will. We’re awesome. But don’t you worry, I’m getting my butt up there soon. I’ve got a lot of little sister duties and all. Gotta make sure this Clarke girl’s good enough for you.”

Bellamy chuckles. “You wouldn’t have told me to stay if you thought she wasn’t.”

“True,” she concedes. “But still, I can be extra nosy for you. Plus you have a lifetime of embarrassing stories to be told, and who better to share them than me? Also, mom and _lola_ have informed me they want more grandbabies. So it's your turn, big brother.” She cuts off his astonished laugh. “Uh uh, I told you there would be payback for all the crap you pulled with Lincoln. This is it.”

“Sure, O. Whatever you want, just get over here soon.”

"You got it."

Even after they’ve hung up, Bellamy can’t stop smiling. He's actually done it; his dreams are his reality now, and better yet, there's still more he wants to do.

The door opens behind him, and then Clarke’s arms slide around him from behind, her cheek pressed against his back. “Where do you think you're going, mister?” Her voice is muffled by his coat, but the way her arms squeeze him a little tighter makes Bellamy’s smile widen. He turns and brings Clarke’s hands to his mouth, pressing soft kisses to her fingertips one by one.

Sure, he knows he can’t just snap his fingers and move somewhere overnight—although that is essentially what just happened. But logistically there’s still the matter of his stuff: his clothes, his books, bank accounts, transferring addresses, physically moving cross-country. All the practical things the rest of the world likes to throw in, just to keep things interesting.

“I'm not going anywhere, Clarke,” he says, and kisses her.

The rest of the world can wait.


End file.
